We Few
by gaelicchick
Summary: They were never the heroes of this story. Durmstrang;isolated, enduring a reign of terror. Beauxbatons;besieged for 200 years, now paralyzed by the Dark Lord. And the Hogwarts Intnl. Society;tiny and helpless. They weren't supposed to be heroes at all.
1. Chapter One: Violent Beginnings

**We Few**

_We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;  
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me  
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,  
This day shall gentle his condition;  
Make him a member of the gentry, even if he is a commoner.  
And gentlemen in England now-a-bed  
Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here,  
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks  
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day._

Before the Battle of Agincourt, 25 October 1415  
William Shakespeare's _Henry V_, Act 4, Scene 3

**Author's Note**: And we're off. For those of you who are new I thought it might be important to add that this is a part of a series. And while I try to make each story I write stand alone, I also don't like to have to remind the reader about every detail, I like you to try and figure it out and remember on your own. So it might be helpful, if you want a better idea of Lucy's background, to read the two stories that immediately preceed this one in the series. _The Egyptian Exodus_ is short, just 5 chapters, chronicling the summer before this year, and gives a good background on Lucy's situation. _Rockinghorse People, Rebels, and Redcoats_ is the year at Hogwarts before this, and covers a little more of Lucy's history, the formation of the BA and the International Society as well as the introduction of all the characters in those two bodies. It should not be necessary to read either of the stories before these in order to understand this adventure, and in all honesty, I would almost rather you not read them before the others, as my writing back then annoys me, and Lucy comes close to emulating She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and I'm afraid they might put you off the series entirely, if thise introduction hasn't already accomplished that. So welcome back to me few loyal reviewers, and away we go.

* * *

Chapter One: Violent Beginnings

"Afternoon, Miss."

Lucy smiled inwardly at the familiar Yankee twang and gave the Marine sentry her most dazzling smile as she flashed her passport. She breathed easier once she had passed onto the embassy grounds; she had been experiencing a nagging worry all the way across town that she couldn't place. The school year had yet to start, she couldn't possibly be in trouble already.

Well, not _probably_ in any case.

However, nothing could harm her inside the solid and reassuring walls of the American embassy, and the mere sight of the flags filled her with such unexpected good humor that she found herself smiling at nearly everyone, from the family standing in line to the bedraggled man in an overcoat on the stairs muttering about paperwork. Following the now familiar path she climbed to the third floor and preceded down the hall, turning in at the office door, fifth on the right, emblazoned with the title "American Citizen Services."

A pretty woman in her 30's, blonde hair pulled back in a bun, sat talking on the phone in a thick Georgia drawl and motioned Lucy to take a seat.

"Yes Mr. Prescott...no, Mr. Prescott...well I'm afraid that's not quite how diplomatic immunity works here in the UK Mr. Prescott. Yes but-... I see that but-...Be that as it may, sir, the fines will still have to be paid... Well you can take that up with the people over in Judicial Assistance, would you like me to connect you? Please hold sir."

The woman gave Lucy an apologetic smiled. "Be right with you honey," before punching two buttons on the phone.

"Betty? Hi, this is Ruth May from Special Consular Services. I'm fine, thanks. Listen, I hate to do this to you, but I've got Leo Prescott on the phone, again... Yes, well, he apparently changed his mind... Uh huh, well I _told_ him the Consulate doesn't do that but I figure maybe if he hears it from you he'll get himself over to the High Court before we have to deport him...I agree but would the paperwork really be worth the reward? Thanks sugar, he's on line five."

Hanging up the phone with a sigh of relief Ruth May Baker nearly jumped out of her chair to see Lucy sitting patiently.

"Lordy child, I'm sorry, I plumb forgot you were there. What can I do for you?"

Lucy smiled. "I'm Lucy Montero, I have an appointment."

Ruth May glanced down her schedule, "Oh right, with Ms. Womack. Go right on in honey."

The appointment didn't take long. Ms. Womack was a secretary Lucy had met the year previously, who had agreed to hold a few sealed documents for Lucy, on the arrangement that she renewed the contract at a pre-appointed time. If she did not, they were to be unsealed and the directions inside followed. Those instructions were a complete mystery to everyone except Lucy, however the possibility that the documents contained a detailed description of the wizarding world, documented evidence, and the directions to Diagon Ally, St. Mungos, and half a dozen other locations was too real to be ignored. They had provided her with a small bit of protection from the less scrupulous of the Ministry workers, and as long as she remained healthy and free, the documents would never be opened.

Not that they seemed to matter very much given the events of the past summer. A far greater threat to both the wizarding world and Lucy's own beloved Western Circle had emerged, and she was certain that given the recent reign of terror she and her record of Ministry Immigration Violations were a rather low priority. She signed the lease that would guarantee the documents remained locked up until the spring, and made her way downstairs.

The clock started to chime as she emerged again into the London morning. At that sound Lucy pulled her thoughts back to the present and made a dash for the first cab she saw.

"King's Cross please, and as quickly as possible."

As she settled into the seat of the cab, she was too preoccupied with the morning traffic to notice that the man in the rumpled overcoat from inside the embassy was now _outside_ the embassy, watching the cab pull away. Had she been paying attention a few moments later in the ally next to the building, she would have been rewarded with the extraordinary sight of the man in the overcoat transforming into a slight young woman with pink hair. She withdrew from the pocket of the coat a very small bird, to whose leg she tied a small note, and then let it fly. The remarkably quick little animal was out of sight in seconds, heading north. Her job more or less completed, the mysterious woman pulled a candy from her pocket, tossed the wrapper on the ground, popped the sweet in her mouth, cast a careful look about, and promptly vanished.

As it was, she was gone just moments before another young woman appeared spontaneously in the very same alley. She bent down, picked up the candy wrapper, and held it to her nose. Smiling, she tucked it in her pocket, and set off around the corner towards the embassy.

A marine approached as she walked through the door. "ID please- oh, back again are you?"

She smiled charmingly, "I forgot my papers."

"Well, good luck with that then miss."

"Thank you."

Upstairs, in the office of Special Consular Services, just as Lucy Montero was speeding toward the train station, there was a knock on Ruth May's office door.

"Why, hello again Miss Montero, was there something else I could do for you?"

The girl smiled, "Yes, there is."

* * *

King's Cross was crowded, and Lucy, not very tall to begin with, was having a fine time of it trying to maneuver her trolley through the busy platform. 

_CRASH_

Lucy grabbed her elbow and let fly a string of Spanish curses that would have made a sailor blush. She hopped up and down to distract herself from the pain, and frowned at the middle aged wizarding couple, their arms firmly about the boy of thirteen, pushing the trolley that had nailed her on the right side, as they made their way through the barrier without turning back.

"Oh I'm fine, no need to worry about me," she grumbled. Honestly, what was their hurry? And a boy of that age, did he really still need both his parents to put him onto the train?

"Sever the umbilical cord, do it now," she muttered, as she tucked her elbows in and fought the traffic to take the barrier at a run.

As she came through she saw the same family stalling directly in front of the barrier. Damn silly thing to do. In what could no way be considered intentional, Lucy accidentally let herself run just a little bit too far, her trolley connecting solidly with the back of the boy's, sending his trunk flying across the platform.

"Excuse me," she smiled, turning her attention toward the train. Now, if she loaded up in that baggage car there she would only have to move about 50 feet...

All thoughts of loading up vanished as Lucy caught sight of the next person to come through the barrier.

The tiny blond girl, however, was checking her trunk, and had her back turned, thereby placing herself in perfect ambush position.

Lucy abandoned her trunk and sprinted towards her victim, ready to pounce.

She hadn't gotten within five yards of Marguerite Ducasse when she found a wand at her throat and three sets of burly arms restraining her, pushing her down to her knees.

"Put your hands on the ground," the only one she could see commanded in a thick French accent.

"Uh, I was in Cleveland."

"What?"

"I don't know what you think I did but I was in Cleveland that week, I swear."

At the ruckus, the blond girl turned around, then raced over.

_"Bastian!"_

However, she was restrained by yet another burly Frenchman.

"Ecoutez-moi, s'il vous plait! C'est Lucy, mon amie!"

It seemed that the pressure of the wand at Lucy's throat eased a fraction. Bastian turned to Marguerite, who had shaken of the other guard's hold.

"Qui est-ce?"

"Elle c'est Lucy, mon amie. Ne c'est pa dangereuse."

At this Marguerite shoved past Bastian, and pulled Lucy to her feet. She continued to argue furiously with the five French guards, none of which weighed less than 180 pounds, and who, Lucy was certain, knew 25 ways to kill short Hispanic girls without touching their wands. Whereas Marguerite couldn't weigh more than 85 pounds and looked like Goldilocks reincarnate.

And there was no way Lucy was stepping out from behind her until this was all resolved.

After much foot stamping on Marguerite's part, as well as shaking of fingers and dirty looks, the arguing ceased. Then, much to Lucy's surprise and the guard's chagrin, Marguerite pointed to Lucy, ordered something, and then waited, expectantly, foot tapping.

Bastian cleared his throat. "My apologies, mademoiselle. It was a mistake." He gave his men a narrow look. "We are all very sorry."

The rest of the squad mumbled their apologies, after which Marguerite stood on tiptoe to give them each a kiss on the cheek, before they moved away to bring her trunk aboard the train.

Lucy breathed easier once they were out of earshot. "Ok, if I hug you, are they gonna hex me?"

Marguerite beat her to the chase. When she pulled back she promptly collapsed into a state of hysterical laughter.

"You know, you may think that being held at wandpoint by four of the largest Frenchman I have ever seen is funny, but it really isn't."

Marguerite hiccupped and wiped her eyes. "Oh, sorry Lucy, but that was priceless. Don't worry, I convinced Bastian, you remember him, don't you, that you were a friend and not at all dangerous. He has strict orders to keep his distance unless I call for him."

"He does seem a little on edge," Lucy huffed as she began to drag her trunk. Her run in with the magical French Secret Service had mean that the nearest baggage cars were full, she'd probably have to walk to the other end of the train to find a space. Marguerite, un-phased, skipped along next to her.

"Well, they aren't the only ones on edge you know. I mean, look at all the parents here. Even the sixth and seventh years have heaps of family here to send them off, and they don't look like it's for nostalgic purposes either."

Lucy took a look around. Marguerite was right. Just past the annoying family that had attacked her on the platform she recognized fellow seventh years saying goodbyes to parents and young siblings, it even looked like there were some aunts, uncles, and grandparents turned out as well.

"They look sad," she commented softly. And no wonder, from what she'd read in the Daily Prophet. A shadow had fallen over the wizarding world in the past few months, and no one was safe. Hogwarts was probably the last haven left that was still out of Lord Voldemort's reach, and even it had shown signs of weakness. Families clearly understood that anything could happen in the months to come.

Marguerite sighed, "Well, it's not a happy time to be sure. Papa and mama would have come to see me off, but they needed to stay with Andre and the ministry."

"How is your brother doing?"

Marguerite and her older brother, Andre, were the children of Monsieur and Madame Ducasse, the French Ambassadors to the British Ministry of Magic. Andre, who had graduated from Beauxbatons some years earlier, had been alone in the family's London residence that summer when it was attacked with a Dragon Breath Bomb. The attack had lead to the entire Ducasse household staff being sent on sabbatical, and replaced with French Ministry Guards. Hence, the brute squad that was currently following the small girl. As for Andre Ducasse, the young man had been terribly burnt, but had been in stable condition the last Lucy had heard.

"Much better. His sight is coming back, and the doctor thinks he'll recover it completely."

Lucy paused, "I didn't know it was injured."

Marguerite studied the ground intently. "It was a side effect that the gas had on his eyes. They didn't realize it was a problem, that sort of gas isn't normally found in that kind of a bomb, so they didn't flush them out immediately. At first they thought his vision problems were the result of the head injury, but it kept getting worse, slowly, but surely. Once the traumas were healing they took a closer look, and figured it out. They caught it in time, they think."

Lucy couldn't help but stop and pull Marguerite into a hug. "I'm so sorry."

Marguerite held on for a bit before pulling away. "He's going to be fine," she stuck her chin out a bit defiantly, "He's going to be good as new."

She had to be one of the strongest people Lucy had ever met. "Of course he is. I, on the other hand, am going to collapse if we get all the way to the end of the train and don't find a compartment."

They peered inside. Lucy's trunk would have to be shrunk to the size of a matchbox to fit in there.

Lucy groaned.

"It's not possible. OK, let's go-"

She was cut off as a pair of arms grabbed her from behind, spinning her around.

"Trunk trouble, love? Never you fear. Grab that, will you mate? I'll get this little Sheila on board."

"Wesley Lane, if you don't stop that I'm going to be sick."

"Who are you calling Wesley?" Came a second Australian voice from the right. "Gosh, what are you packing in here, rocks? Put her down Wills, I might need help hauling this thing."

"It's not that heavy!" Lucy shouted indignantly, desperately trying to get her bearings. "Marguerite, you are not helping, don't think I can't hear the giggles."

The world stopped, and she was still scooped up in William Lane's arms. "Phew, forget that mate, give us a hand, I might need help hauling _this _thing... Ow! Hey, that's not playing fair."

Lucy didn't moved her wand one inch from William's eye. "Down. Now."

William lowered Lucy to her feet. Lucy cast a steely gaze at Marguerite, who was still dying of laughter on the ground, and smoothed out her shirt. "A simple hello would have sufficed. What would Warren have said if he could see you now? Your brother was a gentleman."

Wesley Lane guffawed. "Our brother was the one that recommended we _do_ it."

William, in a lower voice, added, "Audrey told him about hows the French girl had a bit of a rough summer. Warren told us to try and cheer her up. Truth be told you were both looking a little low."

Well, now what was she supposed to do about that. She rose up on her toes and kissed the Aussie on the cheek.

William looked quite pleased with himself. "I always knew Warren was a smart one." His gaze slid further down the platform, to where Chandrika Sanji was pulling her trunk along. "Ah, another lady in distress. Wesley, hurry up with that."

With a tip of his imaginary hat to Lucy and Marguerite, they were off down the platform, and Lucy watched enviously as Wesley carried her trunk as if it held no more than air.

Marguerite wiped her tears of laughter on her sleeve and leaned on Lucy. "They're funny."

Lucy sighed. "They're a handful. Two, in fact." The Lanes had reminded her that, as the elected head of the Gryffindor International Student Body, they were also partially her responsibility this year. She could cheerfully strangle their older, recently graduated brother Warren for doing this to her.

"Come on, let's-"

Marguerite's shriek had her whirling about.

But Marguerite was already being whirled about and placed squarely back on her feet by an enthusiastic Chester P. Parker, who had grown ten feet over the summer, or so it seemed.

But Lucy, fairly sure she hadn't been the only one to hear that shriek, cast as wary glance over her shoulder, and saw five burly men striding in their direction.

"Uh, Marguerite, you better call off the brute squad before they tie Parker down to the rails with his own intestines."

"_What_!" Parker squeaked.

"She'll tell you later," Lucy put a hand on the second year's shoulder as Marguerite rushed by to pacify Bastian and his companions.

At that moment she saw someone waving at her from behind Bastian's frowning form.

"I've got to go, I'll see you at the feast."

"You're leaving!" Chester squeaked again, his eyes never leaving Bastian and his very large hands.

"Trust me,old man,he hates me more than he hates you."

She left the quivering Hufflepuff to his fate, and moved along the train towards the slightly intimidating eyebrows of Dimitri Chernyshev.

"Chernyshev," she greeted the sixth year Slytherin with a handshake and a nod.

"Montero," the burly Russian grinned, "Good to see you back."

"And you," Lucy glanced over Dimitri's left shoulder and waved to Katya Kuzmin, who was loading trunks. "Have a nice summer?"

Dimitri shrugged, "Undefeated, can't complain."

Lucy frowned, "Um, right."

A large hand clapped her on the back, "Summer Quidditch League, it's all he'll talk about. We'll be lucky if he ever shuts up."

Dimitri smirked, "What's that, do I hear the bitter moan of St. Petersburg's sore loser? Get over it Vlad, its not healthy to hang onto all that rage."

Lucy grinned as Vladimir passed by her to heave his trunk into the luggage compartment.

"Oy there, I've got a system!" Katya flashed her prefect's badge the way the FBI might flash their identification. Vlad grumbled, but eventually the 5th year pulled his trunk back to wait while Katya resumed organizing her system.

Dimitri chuckled. "Listen, you're the Gryffindor Supreme...err...head, umm, the head, yes?"

Lucy chuckled, "Something like that, I can't quite remember the title, but, well..." she pointed to a tatty piece of paper with the letters "SP" written on it pinned to her shirt.

Dimitri nodded, "I am so for the Slytherins. We thought it would be a good idea to have a meeting as soon as possible."

Lucy nodded; Dimitri was the head of the Slytherin Chapter of the Hogwarts International Society, as she was the head of the Gryffindor Chapter. Just what exactly the society was supposed to do was anyone's guess, as it had only formed officially the previous term.

"Sounds good. Any ideas as to where?"

Dimitri shrugged, "We're not hiding from anyone anymore, the library'll work fine."

Lucy nodded, "All right, I'll talk to the Ravenclaws and the Hufflepuffs."

"Was hoping you would do that. I'd do it myself, but they get a bit skittish around us, as you know."

Lucy smiled, "They don't mean to really..."

Dimitri chuckled, "Oh yes they do. But we're used to it, and working around it, which is where you come in."

"Right, I'll get back to you then."

The whistle blew. With one fluid twist of her wrist, Katya sent several dozen trunks smoothly flying into the baggage compartment. She closed the door with a flourish, crossing her arms and looking extremely pleased with herself.

Then, of course, she shrieked.

"Onto da train! _Now_! Slytherins, on board before I start to loose my summer good humor."

With a nod to Dimitri, Lucy stepped on board and began to move down the cars.

The section was predominantly Slytherin. She was greeted with cheer by Saori and Mai, fellow international students that she had roomed with in London over Easter, but they weren't who she was looking for. A few more cars brought her into Ravenclaw territory, and it wasn't long till she heard the voices she was searching for.

"Now, that wasn't my fault."

"Not your fault? That's rich, considering the burn marks that remain on the floor to this day. Did the fireplace walk itself halfway across the room?"

"Those were probably from that bloody bird, isn't it?"

"Lucy always kept him in the corner Lynx, there's no way Sparks caused that mess. It was you. Drunk."

"I was not!"

"I saw you! You're only lucky _Lucy_ didn't find you in that state."

She poked her head in, "Lynx is lucky I didn't find him in what state, Bet?"

Lynx Brimstead flushed from his toes to the roots of his extremely wild platinum blond hair. "No state whatsoever. It's good to see you Lucy, how was your summer?"

She decided to let whatever it was that Lynx had so obviously burned up in her absence slide, and gave the 6th year Hufflepuff a warm hug. She then plunked herself down next to the other boy in the compartment, who leaned over and saluted her cheek.

"Rasheph, thanks so much for the papers this summer."

Seventh year Ravenclaw Rasheph Radu grinned, "Oh that? Don't mention it. Say, you moved around quite a bit didn't you? Have a relaxing holiday?"

"Not nearly. How about you Bet, alls well at castle Tsepish I hope?"

Bethany Tsepish, the final occupant of the compartment, rolled her eyes and tossed her long black hair. "The last of the medieval tapestries bit the dust in July, but the outside still looks all right, and that's all that matters."

The Tsepish family was an old pureblood clan with a well respected name and not much else in their possession. For all of their Romanian noble connections, the family fortune had gone dry years and years ago, as Bet had revealed to Lucy privately. Enterprising young soul that she was, the seventh year Slytherin had been paying her way through Hogwarts by running a high stakes gambling ring in the dungeons.

A ring to which Lucy would be eternally grateful, since they had donated the funds that had enabled several Hogwarts international students, including herself, to pay tuition and fees for the forthcoming term after the Ministry had withdrawn their scholarships.

"Good to know." Lucy settled herself down. "So, any developments over the summer?"

"Well, didn't you read about Lynx's second cousin being found in a most unorthodox position in Bath- _ow_!"

"That woman is not related to me, for the forty-seventh time!"

Bet sighed as the two boys grappled on the floor. "Lemon drop, Lucy?"

"Yes, thank you." Feeling much like she was watching a televised hockey match, Lucy scooped up a handful of candies.

"No, no Rasheph, you'll never hold him like that, you have to immobilize the-"

"Lynx, now that was just flat out cheating."

"But creative, you have to give him that."

"Mmm, very Slytherin of you Lynx, I'm surprised."

"But _that_ has to be the most pathetic headlock of all time."

"This _is_ kind of sad, now that you mention it. Didn't you have any brothers at all?"

The wrestling match continued despite the heckling, and eventually could not be contained within the compartment. With one twist Lynx pulled himself and Rasheph through the compartment door and out into the corridor.

"Ow!"

The scream, however, was female.

The boys froze at once, then scrambled up, revealing the crumpled form of a small black girl, with a very bloody nose.

"Oh, geez, sorry about that, it was an accident."

The girl scrambled to her feet. "Accident my foot!" As if to prove it, she stamped her left foot.

At that moment three things happened. The door to the compartment slammed shut, both Rasheph and Lynx's heads twisted to the right, as if they had been smacked, and Lucy felt a ringing in her head.

A glance at Bet showed her that she had heard the ringing too.

The stranger grew very quiet, pinching her nose and backing away.

"Listen, it's ok, really, I'm just going to find a bathroom and-"

"No!" Lucy and Bet shouted at once.

"I've got a handkerchief right here."

"Why don't you come and sit down for a minute, you know you might have hit your head. The boys were just about to take a nice walk to cool off."

"And find the snack cart, weren't you?"

"Er, right. Yeah, let's go." Sheepishly, Lynx and Rasheph slunk off down the train.

"They're normally pussycats, really. Come on in, I'm Bet, this is Lucy, and you are?"

"Agatha, Agatha Dunstan."

Lucy pressed her handkerchief to Agatha's nose, and noted the Hufflepuff badge on her cloak.

"Your in Hufflepuff then? That will make Lynx feel extra guilty. Do you know Lynx?"

Over the next half hour they discovered that Agatha Dunstan was a third year Hufflepuff with Quidditch dreams and herbology nightmares. She lived in London, which explained the cockney accent, her mother was a nurse at St. Mungos and her muggle father was a children's book illustrator.

Bet finally decided to stop beating around the bush.

"So how long have you been able to toss stuff around without a wand?"

Agatha paled.

Lucy elbowed Bet in the ribs.

"Cause, you know, Lucy can, she's been doing this since forever."

This caused Agatha's eyes to widen and earned Bet a second elbow in her ribs.

"What? You knew she could do it, I knew she could do it, she might as well realize she can do it."

Agatha shook her head. "How did you know?"

"What, besides the shaking compartment doors and excellently timed mental smack-down that you gave the boys?"

"That- that couldn't be me."

Lucy patted her hand. "Besides that, your were glowing like a roman candle, mystically speaking."

Agatha leaned back against her seat. "I could never explain it, I just thought it would go away."

Lucy sighed, "Do you want it to go away?"

"You can _do_ that?"

"Probably, if you don't want to learn how to use it."

"Use what?"

"Your gift," Bet grinned, "You sort of stumbled right into an informal meeting of the closeted magical freaks of Britain."

"What?"

"Barbarians Anonymous, that's what we call ourselves."

"We're thinking of having buttons made, but that would defeat the purpose I suppose."

"You mean you _all_ can do this?"

Lucy shrugged, "We're all a little different. I was raised in a school for magic like this, so I can do it all, sort of. Bet, Rasheph, and Lynx, they all discovered their abilities more recently."

"And we're all good at different things. Rasheph can put images into peoples heads, I can hear thoughts, in a way, Lynx makes things fly around and blow up."

"What?"

Lucy rolled her eyes, "He's an elementary firestarter, but he has a long way to go on the control."

Agatha shook her head. "Wow. How come I never heard about this before?"

"We don't exactly advertise. People tend to get nervous."

"Right, right, of course. Wow."

"Like I said, if you don't want to do this, you don't have to. It's fairly simple for me to make it go away at this stage."

Agatha studied her shoes for a long while. "I might have taken you up on that, before I realized that I wasn't alone."

Bet grinned. "Trust me, you're connected to more people than you think through this."

Agatha smiled, "Well, count me in."

"Huzzah!" Came a cry from outside the compartment, and Lynx, Rasheph, and a younger boy with curly brown hair burst through the door, ending up in a heap on the floor.

"Not again," Bet groaned.

"But we brought sweets!" Lynx popped up, nearly bobbling the cauldron cakes, which Agatha rescued.

"How long have you boys been outside," she asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Long enough to realize that we have a new member," the curly haired boy grinned. "I'm Magnus, by the way, ran into these two at the tea trolley."

Magnus Mercury had only joined the BA at the very end of the previous term. The club itself had spontaneously formed during sixth year, when Lucy, who had been trained all her life at the Espiritu Institute, a Western Circle school in Northern New Mexico, realized that there were other students at Hogwarts with the "gifts" to manipulate natural energies. The club's existence was kept a secret, since Lucy knew more than anyone how most Hogwarts students reacted to the presence of "wandless wizards". She had made the mistake of not being discrete during her first year at Hogwarts two years ago, and had learned from it. In the terms since, she had made a greater effort to fit in, and, in the usual pattern of teenage gossip, her "oddity" was soon forgotten, or at least, ceased to be an entertaining topic of conversation; of which she was very grateful.

Bet, Lynx, Rasheph and Lucy had been the BA's founding members, and Magnus had found his way into the association on his own, through Rasheph. Lucy didn't question that, she was an Espiritu, which made the BA an extension of Espiritu, and Espiritu, unlike some Western Circle schools, never recruited. There was a certain mysticism surrounding the school's founding, and traditionally the students found a way to the school, rather than the other way around.

Which is why Lucy saw Lynx and Rasheph's "accidental" tackling of Agatha as a perfectly natural means of introduction.

And indeed, the girl seemed more comfortable in the company of the clowning trio, and she extended her hand, "Agatha Dunstan, Hufflepuff."

"Mercury," Magnus managed between bites of his cake, he wiped his hand quickly on his trousers before returning Agatha's handshake, "Ravenclaw."

"Rasheph Radu, Ravenclaw."

Agatha raised an eyebrow at the badge on Rasheph's robes, "You're a prefect?"

Rasheph blushed. Bet giggled, "He's normally a bit more sedate. You can blame it all on this fellow," she poked at Lynx, who had squeezed himself between Bet and Agatha on the seat.

"Lynx Brimstead, Hufflepuff as well, I haven't seen you around much."

"Your on the Quidditch team," Agatha shrugged, as if this explained everything.

"Yes, and he does get hit in the head a lot, poor darling. You know Lynx, Agatha might be going out for Quidditch, you should pull some strings."

"Oy?" Lynx, his mouth completely full of chocolate frog, grinned broadly, which was a terrible brown and gooey sight. "Well, I'm not captain, but you ought to try out."

"Yes, because we all know Hufflepuff's chronic reliance on a deep reserve bench." Lucy snickered.

"Hey, just because your lot finally managed to get through a year without having your seeker mortally wounded during game time is no reason to get up on your high horse with me. Or shall we recount the record breaking injury list of two years ago?"

"Uncle," Lucy growled.

After the boys had finished stuffing their faces with the sweets that they claimed to have brought for the girls, the conversation flowed easily from Quidditch to classes to Rita Skeeter's latest book. The train chugged north, darkness had fallen, and Magnus was launching into another epic tale of the authoress' addiction to herbal teas (among other herbal products) when Marguerite appeared at the compartment door.

"Lucy, could you spare a moment?"

Lucy excused herself and followed Marguerite down the train.

"What is it?"

"We just got a letter."

"What? Who? Where? How?"

Marguerite sighed and pulled her along toward the back of the train. "A letter, addressed to the International Society, just a few moments ago at the back of the train, delivered by a swallow, we think."

"African or European swallow?"

"What?"

"Never mind. Who found it?"

"The Slytherins, you know they like to take up the final couple of cars, well apparently it kept knocking on the window of Dimitri's compartment. When he opened it the bird flew in, dropped off the letter, and flew back out. They haven't opened it yet, they sent Sasha to get me, I'm supposed to bring you and Sergei, and someone else is tracking down Gisella."

Gisella was the head of the international Hufflepuffs, and Sergei was in charge of the Ravenclaws.

They found Dimitri in the back baggage car of the train, along with Katya, Vladimir, and Koji/Kentaro, the Tsujimoto twins that for the life of her Lucy could never tell apart.

The caboose of the Hogwarts Express was designed for trunk storage, not passenger comfort, Lucy soon realized. The Slytherins were sitting on a few stray trunks that weren't piled to the ceiling, so she and Marguerite opted for the floor.

"What are you doing back here?"

Dimitri nodded towards a very full ashtray near the back door.

"Right. So what's this about a letter?"

Katya tossed the envelope across the car. "Came about five minutes ago. No idea where from, of course, we wanted to wait until the rest-"

At that moment sixth years Gisella Trifiro, Sergei Petrenko, and Aysha Doman burst into the car, followed by a more serene Sasha Yudin, a Slytherin 2nd year. "What's going on?"

Vlad groaned and lit another cigarette.

Once the story of the letter's appearance was repeated and they agreed everyone was on an even footing, Katya eagerly ripped the envelope open.

"Well?"

Katya flipped through what looked like several pieces of paper, then sighed and handed two to Marguerite.

Marguerite glanced at it, "It's in French. Why would they write to us in French?"

"This is not Russian," Katya passed the papers she was holding over to Dimitri, who shrugged and passed them to Vlad, who handed them to Sergei, who handed them to Sasha.

"Let me see." Sasha raised her eyebrows at Lucy's request, but handed the papers over. Lucy flipped to the end.

"The signature is appalling, Vincent Laaa... or is that a 'K'..."

"Lucy, can you read that?"

"No, but I thought that if we knew who sent it, we might have an idea about at least what language it was written in."

Gisella looked over Marguerite's shoulder. "What does it say?"

"It's says that they are writing on behalf of the Beauxbatons student body."

"What!"

"Shhh! Go on..."

"Valerie... Valerie Krann..."

"Lucy, can't you do that any quieter?"

"I've almost got it!"

Lucy was being completely ignored, as she held the paper up to the light to better make out the letters in the signature.

"What does Beauxbatons want with us?"

"They heard about us, and what we went through last year, how we stood up to the Ministry and ultimately became recognized by the government and the school."

"Is that what we did?"

"Not really, but it sure sounds nice when you put it that way."

"What else does it say?"

"They realized that we are the only kind of official student organization at the school-"

"What, the Amphibian Acoustics don't count?"

"And as such they want to-"

"Hey! Who the hell is Victor Krum?" Lucy interrupted.

Dimitri's eyes nearly fell out of his sockets. And the letter was nearly lost as he made to rip it out of Lucy's hands. Sergei intervened.

"I don't believe it, you're right Lucy, I've got an autographed picture and that's his signature."

Dimitri was still reeling, and drooling. "The letter is from Victor Krum... let me see it."

"Who is he?" Lucy took the letter back from Sergei. The boys were clearly not stable enough to handle the document.

"He's a Quidditch player," Katya sighed. "Comes from Bulgaria, he was here for the TriWizard Tournament three years ago, the Durmstrongs Champion."

Lucy was on her feet and picking her way around trunks, headed for the door.

"Where are you taking Victor's letter!" Dimitri cried.

"Nicholas or Svetlana Kornakovitch, their families are from Bulgaria, their parents sent them here because they don't like Durmstrongs politics. This letter is probably written in a language they can _read_."

"Well can't you leave it with-"

_BANG_

Lucy had her hand on the doorknob, with the door partly ajar. The explosion knocked her back over a trunk. The car swayed crazily to one side and the shriek of protesting metal was nearly deafening.

They saw the trunks sliding on the racks, but there wasn't time to get out of the way. Lucy didn't even think to scream, but instinctively curled up and threw her arms over her head before the luggage came crashing down and the world went black.

_**OoO**_


	2. Chapter Two: Memorable Moments

We Few

"Then bang! Crash! The lightening flashed and-well, that's another story, never mind."  
Stephen Sondheim, _Into the Woods_

Chapter Two: Memorable Moments

Lucy had been knocked unconcious a surprising number of times in her short stay at Hogwarts, and as a result, she was beginning to find she came out of a blackout with surprising speed and clarity.

The lights were out in the compartment, as far as she could tell. Her only way of guessing was because no light was coming in anywhere, she couldn't actually see for herself as she was currently buried under a barrage of luggage. Trying to push herself up off the floor proved futile, and confirmed her suspision that there was something seriously wrong with her right arm, it just should not be bending that way. It didn't hurt, yet. Perhaps she was in shock.

Steadying herself, she focused on her breathing, grounded, centered, and with a little concentration, manage focus her power and raise whatever was covering her about three feet in the air. Still no light. She struggled with using her left hand to get into her right pocket, and finally succeeded in locating her wand.

"Lumos," she whispered, not knowing why she was whispering. She crawled out through the opening she had created when she raised what she now saw as three trunks that had landed on her, and surveyed the damage.

The car was a disaster, at least what she could see of it. She could make out a few of the Slytherins, unconcious against the left side, but since the car had leaned to the right, they were not completely buried. In fact, they appeared the be almost on top. Lucy now realized why she was so disoriented. Sometime after she had blacked out, the car had fallen completely over onto its right side. It had violently thrown those on the left side of the car on top of most of the luggage, and had buried those on the right side under the avalanche.

A cold sweat broke out down Lucy's back. Marguerite had been on the right side of the car.

"Marguerite?" She called.

She heared something, but it wasn't Marguerite. It came from outside the car. Someone was outside, and they were trying to be quiet. No one who was coming to check for possible students that had been riding in the baggage car would try to be quiet.

With nowhere else to hide, Lucy quickly noxed her wand, slithered back into her original place, and carefully lowered the three trunks back on top of her.

The footsteps came closer, walked around the car, and came back again. Lucy held her breath, she was hidden, but Katya and Dimitri were not. She could only hope that in the darkness whomever it was would not look that far back in the car.

The door creaked. Getting through that door would be tricky, Lucy thought, since with the car on its side one would have to climb over the luggage blocking the bottom.

After what sounded like a few tries, the footsteps returned, walking away into the night.

She promised herself she would worry about who that was later. As it was she was scrambling out of her hole again, scanning the car for Marguerite.

As her light fell on Dimitri, the boy groaned, and muttered something in Russian.

"Dimitri? Are you ok?"

She paused in her systematic stacking of luggage.

"What happened?"

"The car flipped. Give me hand, will you? I'm down to one and we've got people buried in here."

Dimitri rubbed his head, but his eyes soon cleared, and together they Leviosa'd the luggage off the pile one at a time, stacking them to create room, and lifting layer after layer off of the people on the bottom.

"How many did you say you were under?"

"Three, but I was near the door, I didn't get the brunt of it."

"I just remember flying... right into the ceiling. Katya, Sasha and I must have gotten knocked out."

"I think everyone got knocked out." By now she could see one of Marguerite's black and white saddle shoe and the skinny little leg it was attached to sticking out.

Dimitri paled. "Come on, she'll be fine, keep going."

Two more trunks and they knew that Marguerite was, indeed, fine. She had been buried under seven trunks, one Slytherin, and one Ravenclaw. When the rubble was finally cleared they found that the only bit of Marguerite that _could_ be seen was her leg, the rest of her was covered by Sergei and Vlad, who both, so it appeaerd, had thrown themselves over the small girl when the explosion occurred.

"Great," Dimitri huffed, the Slytherin in him not willing to display just how proud he was of Vlad, or how relieved he was to see everyone breathing, "Once Katya hears about this she's gonna start bugging me about why I didn't throw myself over her."

"I wouldn't want you to throw yourself on me if the train had fallen off a god damn cliff you great baboon," came a slurry voice from behind them. Katya was sitting up with Sasha on top of the pile they had landed on. Sasha didn't seem to be completely conscious, and was leaning heavily on Katya's shoulder.

"Good, then you can get down here and help us dig. Gisella, Aysha, and the twins are pinned under a couple of trunks in the corner."

"And we are all getting a little tired of waiting to be rescued." Gisella giggled.

"Are you guys ok?"

"As good as can be expected. Lighter stuff down this end, although there is an owl over here that is getting less and less friendly by the minute."

Sasha dealt with checking Vlad, Sergei, and Marguerite, who awakened once all the talking began. The little girl had a few bruises, but was otherwise fine. Sergei and Vlad were suffering from back pain, which was to be expected.

In the back corner, several trunks had not been fastened correctly. Gisella had been partly pinned under an open trunk, and as such had suffered little more than a few scratches. The twins had been knocked out when they were thrown in the corner, but were not buried under anything heavier than a guitar case. And Aysha had been buffered by the contents of another trunk, her major trauma had come from hitting the wall and the angry owl that had scratched her through the cage bars in its agitation.

When they were all freed, Koji led the way out the door and into the night.

The car was lying on its side, facing downhill, and it appeared to have slid about fifty feet from the tracks.

"Oh great merciful Merlin," Gisella breathed. "Look where we were?"

Lucy's stomach clenched. The car's slide had been stopped by trees on a forested slope. She could follow the path of dirt and debris back up the slope to the train tracks. The car had toppled off the tracks not twenty feet after crossing the bridge.

"A couple of seconds sooner..." Vlad speculated

"We would have fallen all the way to the bottom of th gorge," Sergei measured the distance cooly. "That's got to be about three hundred feet."

"Stop it," Aysha shivered. "Let's go find the train."

The light of ten wands illuminated the path back up the slope, and the little troop begain to march along the tracks. Sasha, still not quite conscious, was given a piggyback ride by Kentaro. Aysha, deciding it would be cruel to leave it, carried the owl in its cage. They could hear noise in the distance, and as they rounded the sharp corner two hundred feet from the bridge, they saw the bright lights of the Express. Faces were pressed to windows, and a group of individuals was gathered around the back of the last car, inspecting the damage.

Someone spotted their lights before they got near, and suddenly a light a thousand times brighter than any "Lumos" Lucy had ever seen exploded from the direction of the train, illuminating the pass, and the little group of battered students limping, in the case of Sergei and Vladimir, along the tracks.

"Stop where you are!"

Seeing as they were very tired, and since there were about half a dozen wizards with their wands pointed at them, the little group shrugged, and noxed their wands.

Two wizards approached them briskly.

"I know one of those," Marguerite murmerred, "He's an Auror, he was guarding Andre's hospital room for a while."

Lucy hadn't realized that there were Aurors guarding the express this year. She hadn't realized Aurors were guards at all. Of course, in war, people tended to be put where they were needed.

And apparantly these two were needed to stare down a group of students.

The first Auror, a tall young man in his mid twenties with auburn hair and freckles regarded them with puzzlement.

"Where did you come from? Did you jump the train or something?"

Katya snorted. "Jump the train or something. The _train_ jumped, not us!"

Kentaro settled Sasha a little more comfortably on his back and gestured to the twisted mess on the back of the second to last, and now the last, car. "The last car got disconnected and fell off the tracks."

"And we were in it." Aysha added.

The second Auror, a woman in her forties with short bonde hair peered into the darkness. "Where is it?"

Sergei sighed, "About 300 feet back, around the bend, follow the debris trail just after the bridge. It's in the trees on the eastern slope about 50 feet down."

Gisella sighed, "May we go sit down now?"

The first Auror held up a hand, "Wait a minute, the last car on the Express is always a baggage car."

"Yes." Lucy felt they were demonstrating a phenomenal display of patience.

"What were you all doing in the baggage car?"

"Nothing, just talking, listen these two guys really need to sit down their backs are not well," Lucy tapped her foot impatiently. And, not that she was going to say anything in front of the stoic and uncomplaining Slytherins, but her arm was starting to hurt like hell.

The Aurors ushered them into a car near the back, which they all appreciated. The last thing they needed was to be marched to the front of the train while the entire school peered out the windows. As it was, the only people who knew that they had ever been off the train were the handful of firsties in the second to last car, and none of them knew their names.

The Aurors also administered the Morphinus Charm, which would keep the pain down until they got to Hogwarts.

Lucy drifted off into a stupur as the train finally started again. As she did so, the two Aurors passing through the car looked on.

"You got their names?"

"Yes, all of them."

"And what did they say they were doing back there?"

"Having a meeting, something like that. I'm inclined to believe them, but we'll see what Albus Dumbledore thinks."

"Well, until then, I think it best to just keep this all under the ivy bush. I read about these kids last year, and the last thing this little society needs after nearly being arrested at Easter is to start the year off charged with the bombing of the Hogwarts Express."

* * *

Lucy awoke when she felt a gentle shake of her left shoulder. She looked up to see the blonde Auror standing over her.

"The train's stopped. We're going to wait for most of the students to move out, then we'll put you all in carriages for the hospital wing."

Lucy stood up and looked down at her right arm. That angle just wasn't natural. She sighed, seeing Madame Pomfrey first thing was probably not the best way to start the year off.

After a few minutes, when the firsties had been ushered off to the boats and most of the carriages had left, the bedraggled group climbed into the remaining three coaches. Instead of dropping them off near the Great Hall, the coaches continued around towards the Hospital Wing.

"She's not going to be happy to see us again, is she?" Koji grumbled as he made his way up the stairs.

"Probably not," Kentaro sighed, and settled Sasha on his back.

"Let's just get this over with," Sergei sighed, winced, and pushed open the doors.

Madame Pomfrey was standing in the middle of the room, her foot tapping.

"They sent an owl ahead about you lot. _Train accidents? Dementor attacks?_ I'm going to have to retire if your club decides to continue to court disaster every four months."

"Yes, because we had so much control over those two events," Lucy grumbled.

Dimitri sighed, "We're sorry to tear you away from the feast, Madame Pomfrey, but the accident was not our idea."

"I am aware of that, Mr. Chernyshev. But if you keep trying to undo the countless hours of my best work that I have put into patching you all back together, I'm going to begin to think you don't appreciate it. And I already have Mr. Potter for that particular exhasperation."

At this moment Sasha decided to pick her head up and moan, and Poppy snapped into action mode.

"All right, just set her down there Mr. Tsujimoto. Everyone take a bed, and I'll see if I can get you out for the end of the feast."

Sasha had a mild concussion. Once Madame Pomfrey was satisfied there was not any damage to the skull, she moved on to Sergei and Vlad. Whatever charm she cast seemed to be rather painful, but it also had the boys up and walking with little pain fifteen minutes later. Dimitri and Katya had some serious bruising, and Katya had a sprained wrist. Marguerite, sheltered beneath Sergei and Vald, had a few bumps and scratches, and bruise on her temple. Gisella, Aysha, and the twins had relatively minor injuries, and were cleared to leave after she had satisfied herself that there were no hidden ailments.

"All right Miss Montero, let's deal with that."

Lucy was suddenly apprehensive. "You know, I kind of like it at this angle."

"You'll have some trouble doing wand work that way, aren't you right handed?"

"I could use my left."

"Way I hear it, Miss Montero, you have enough trouble with your right. Now just stay still..."

Twenty minutes later the group left the hospital wing, although Sasha would be required to return to spend the night.

"They better have left us something to eat," Gisella growled, "I'm starving."

Lucy thought of the massive appetites of her housemates, and decided that she may need to swing by the kitchens before bed.

"How's the arm?" Dimitri examined the sling on her right arm.

She flexed her fingers, and inhaled sharply. "Still a bit on the painful side. Madame Pomfrey says it should feel better by morning, and I can take the sling off when I get to bed." She arranged her sleeves so the sling was not obvious.

"So, that letter..."

She rolled her eyes, "Honestly Chernyshev, after all that has happened you're still concerned about the letter from Krum?"

"Of course. You still have it, don't you?"

"Yes, I still have it. Why don't we wait for the meeting, and we can look at it then. It will give the Kornakovitch's time to translate it."

"Fine," the Slytherin tried not to sulk.

The feast was still in full swing when they entered the hall. They would later learn that the Sorting had been delayed half an hour because most of the boats were swamped by the Giant Squid. Apparantly the new paint that had been used to cover the hulls had some unknown phosphorescent qualities during the full moon. While the Squid was more interested in playing with the boats than the students, the frantic first years had to be corralled and dried out before the ceremony could take place. The poor first years were really having a tough first day.

"We'll discuss the meeting place and time later," Gisella patted Lucy's good arm.

"Right." Lucy returned Marguerite's little wave and slipped in beween Nicholas Kornakovitch and William Lane at the Gryffindor table.

"Oy, hello again," William wiggled his eyebrows. Apparantly not many people had noticed their absence.

Lucy piled a few vegetables on her plate before producing the letter from her pocket. She handed Nicholas the first page.

"Can you read that?"

Nicholas frowned, put down his turkey leg, and quickly wiped his hands on his pants leg. "Let's see it..."

Lucy grimaced, but handed it over.

As he read, a frown appeared between his eyebrows. Finally he looked up, confused.

"Lucy, where did you get this?"

Lucy looked at the students packed closely together up and down the table.

"I'll tell you later, but can I take that as a 'yes, I can read this'?"

Nicholas nodded impatiently, "Of course, it's in Bulgarian, we moved there from Yugoslavia when Svetlana was four. Who sent this, where's the rest of the letter?"

"I have it. You can read it later, when you are somewhere a little less public."

"Huh?"

"Trust me."

Nicholas shrugged and handed her the paper back.

Lucy turned back to her dinner. "Oh, by the way, what did the first page say?"

"It said that the students of Durmstrongs are interested in forming an alliance with the Hogwarts International Society for the increased flow of information and mutual protection of all."

Nicholas took a large bite of his turkey leg as Lucy choked on her broccoli and had to be pounded on the back by William.

They were going to have to arrange that meeting, and fast.

* * *

Lucy's absence had not been noticed by her year mates, most likely because she had never really been a consistant train companion. In any case, it meant a blessed lack of questions about her delayed entrance, for which she was very grateful.

When the meal was over, the song was sung, and it was time to make the trip up to the tower, she heard a familiar voice behind her. "First years, Gryffindors, follow me!"

Hermione Granger, her Head Girl badge perfectly straight, was standing on her tiptoes and waving her hand in the air as she directed the newest Gryffindors out of the hall and up the stairs.

"This way, follow me! You there, not that way! Stop! You're following the wrong house, they're going to the dungeons, the _Gryffindors_ are this way!"

As Hermione hopped up and down midway up the staircase, Ron strided forward, leaned into the mass of Slytherin students with a mild display of disgust, pulled the wayward boy out of the huddle by his sweater with one arm, shoving him back into the center of the swarming Gryffindor mass.

Crisis averted, Hermione continued guiding the students toward the tower, and Lucy watched in amusement as first Harry, then Ron again managed to nip the wayward first year back into line as he repeatedly took the wrong turn, first accompanying the Ravenclaws, then the Hufflepuffs.

Chandrika laughed, "Get the feeling he doesn't want to be in this house?"

"We're going to need a leash." Wesley Lane added.

Lucy chuckled, and waited patiently as Hermione murmured "Fortitudo," which finally ended the Fat Lady's rambling account of July's "Where's Winifred?" contest in which the castle ghosts competed to be the first to locate Winifred Waltzingham, a Hogwarts headmistress from the 17th century who wandered through the galleries every summer. The contest was made more difficult by the fact that she had been painted in miniature and consequentialy was only five inches high, and never stayed in the same painting for more than a day. Annoyed that Hermione had cut her off before she could finish her description of the Bloody Baron trying to beat information out of Sir Cudugeon, the Fat Lady stuck out her tongue and the doorway swung open.

Watching the firsties catch their first glimpse of the common room was always amusing. The wandering boy even finally stood still for five seconds.

Hermione began directing the newcomers to their rooms. Lucy was tempted to search out Nicholas and have him read the final page of the letter, but he had already found his year mates and charged up the stairs. Just as she was about to go in search of him she felt a tug on her arm.

Lavender Brown, beautifully tanned, was pulling her towards the stairs, Parvati was walking along beside her.

"What's going on?"

Parvati tossed her head. "She's gone mental, that's what's happened. Just about every single event since the Express left the station has been "the last time," and Lavender has gone mad on sentimentality."

Lavender gave Paravati a pitying look. "Just you wait, spring will come and our Hogwarts career will be over and _then_ you'll wish you'd savored every last moment."

"And _you_ are going to, is that it?" Lucy queried.

Lavender nodded. Parvati snorted again.

"Don't look at me like that lovey, the day you savor a Potions Exam is the day McGonagall strips naked and paints herself red and gold."

Lavender shuddered, "_That_ is a perfectly _horrible_ mental image to throw at me when I'm in such a vulnerable state."

"Well, now, technically it would be a brilliant display of house spirit." Lucy added.

"She wasn't talking about McGonagall in the buff," Parvati added quietly as she started up the stairs.

Lucy chuckled.

"It's not funny, a Potions exam is proven to reverse the effects of an entire month's worth of anti-aging beautification spells."

"Well, I dare say the joyous moment of graduation and the promise of leaving Snape behind forever will set things to rights."

That seemed to cheer Miss Brown up considerably, she trotted to catch up with them and tuck both her arms through their elbows, as had been her initial plan.

"We'll cross the threshhold of the seventh year girls bedroom together...and in years to come we'll look back on this day..."

"And remember how tempted I was to toss you back down the stairs."

Lavender's sentimentality was unphased by Parvati's sarcasm, and Lucy swore the girl nearly wept when she pushed open the door, and tried to pull Lucy and Parvati through with her.

"Ow."

Lucy's already tender arm scraped the doorframe as a surprisingly strong Lavender pulled her through, and she bit down on her tongue not to scream. The last thing she needed was for _these_ two to start asking questions. There was a clever cartoon of two Nifflers drawn on the stall in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, and although they were only identified with initials, everyone knew to whom they referred.

Trying not to giggle at the memory of Lavender's face on a Niffler, Lucy surveyed their new room. Three canopied beds which looked just the same as last year, but with the addition of a large and comfy sofa against the wall on the right in the space that was normally occupied by Hermione's bed. There was also an arm chair and foot stool with a crazy floral pattern. Because seventh years occupied the highest rooms in the tower, the ceiling was not the normal flat ceiling they were used to. It sloped upward from the windows all the way to the wall that the door was on, displaying lovely rafters and giving the place the feel of a palace.

Lavender was looking out the window. "It's so high..."

Parvati shrugged and opened her trunk. "It's exactly twelve feet higher than our room last year."

Lucy decided that unpacking was over rated and collapsed on the sofa.

"So where does Hermione live now?"

"In the Head Girl's quarters. I hope we get to have a look, they are supposed to be fabulous. Private bath, your own sitting room, personal house elf, although I suppose Hermione won't be too keen on that, did I mention the private bath?"

"Makes you wish you'd worked a little harder, lovey?"

"Not at all. Not even the chance to escape sharing a bathroom with hordres of females could induce me to spend any more time identifying entrails than I already have."

Parvati smiled as she set up the mahogany stand she kept her gazing balls in. "Actually, there should be a secret entrance somewhere around here. When Percy Weasley was head boy he had a door that opened from his sitting room directly into Gryffindor tower. Can't remember where it came out though, I think it might have moved around. Whatever it did, Fred and George Weasley found a way in one night and pretended to be Sirius Black. Apparantly Percy was so terrified he wet the bed. Denies it to this day of course. But Penelope said he slept with the light on for weeks afterwards."

Lucy had never met Percy Weasley, but she substituted Ron in her mental picture and was suffciently amused. Lucy didn't hate Ron, and techincally Ron didn't hate Lucy. While most people, when they noticed her at all, treatedly her relatively normally, Ron had never quite forgotten about or adjusted to her "different talents." As a result she sometimes caught him looking at her as one might examine a strangely ticking suitcase abandoned in the airport. Just wondering how long until it went Boom.

"Well, now there's something you don't see every day." Parvati stood by the window, polishing one of her gazing balls with a silk cloth. Lavender and Lucy joined her.

"Poor firsties, must have been terrified."

"You know, from up here it looks kind of cute."

Not even Parvati made a comment about the possible over-sentimentality of the moment as the three girls remained in silence by the window, watching the giant squid toss glow-in-the dark boats about like bath tub toys.

oOoOo


	3. Chapter Three:VisitationsInvitations

We Few

_"He whose ranks are united in purpose will be victorious." -Sun Tzu_

Chapter Three: Visitations and Invitations

"Lucy... come and play!"

The forest path was shaded and cool, and she reluctantly allowed herself to be pulled to her feet and dragged up the mountianside by the enthusiastic Egyptian. He looked different for some reason. But he also looked bathed, which was a refreshing surprise.

She shouldn't be here.

Why that popped into her mind she didn't know.

"Omiri, I shouldn't be here, I can't play now."

"Just for a minute, come on."

They emerged in a clearing, and Lucy realized they were far up the mountian, above the bushline. She peered down into the valley, where low clouds obscured her view of the river.

How did she know there was a river there?

But Omiri was at her side again, pulling her hand and dragging her over to where the children were standing in a circle. Regina was in the middle, a blindfold in her hand and a smile on her face.

"Ohh no, you'll let me wander right off the moutianside."

"We will not!"

"You let me walk off the cliff last time!"

"Well you landed in the water!"

Before she could protest too many pairs of arms had a hold of her and her vision was reduced to nothing but the smelly inside of a scarf that in all likelihood had previously been used as a dishtowel.

She could do nothing but wander, arms outstreatched, listen, and hope to catch one of the little monsters before she pitched off the mountianside.

"Over here!"

"Lucy."

"You can't catch me!"

"Lucy."

Their voices were getting farther and farther away.

"Where are you guys?"

"We can't tell."

"LUCY! DO YOU WANT TO BE LATE ON YOUR LAST FIRST MORNING AT HOGWARTS!"

The mountian was gone, and in its place stood Lavender Brown, dressing gown clad with her towel in her hand.

"Let's get going, before Peeves decides to turn the hot water cold."

Lucy mumbled something and got up.

She had been dreaming, but it had been strangely real. Omiri, Regina, and the others had not looked exactly as they had when she last saw them. They were cleaned, and wearing clothes other than the paltry few outfits they had worn that summer. It was very weird. And the place they were playing, she supposed it must have been somewhere they stopped over the summer, but she didn't remember taking them into the mountians. It would have been too cold.

"Where are you guys?...We can't tell" 

Well that was for damn sure.

Trying to forget why the dream had unsettled her, Lucy flipped open her trunk, relieved that Zhara had put her uniforms on top, pulled out a set, and after a bit of blind rummaging, pulled out a towel. Satisfied that she could mooch shampoo off of someone, she set out for the showers, hoping some steam would drive the uneasiness out of her mind.

Her hair was cleaner, she certainly smelled better, but the dream persisted.

"You're going to miss breakfast Lucy!" Lavender, perfectly coiffed, breezed past her.

She was missing one sock and her tie, and it took a tremendous amount of will power not to summon the pins out of Lavender's fancy upsweep. Instead she flipped her trunk open again, pulling shirts off the top, placing them on the bed, hoping the rest of her uniform was somewhere near the top.

That was when she saw the package.

It was squarish and dense, wrapped in brown paper. Lucy untied the string and unfolded the wrapper.

A dozen tanned, beaming faces smiled back at her.

Her heart clutched and she sat down hard on the bed.

It was Fiji, one of their first stops, Omari and Perseus stood proudly in front of a giant sandcastle, many of the other children were sprawled on the sand in front. In the far upper left hand corner of the picture the top of a diving mask and a protruding snorkle could be seen sticking out of the sand. Lucy smiled, Diego had spent the better part of the afternoon under that castle, yelling through that tube.

"_Where are you guys?...We can't tell."_

Lucy flipped through the next few pictures, India, Thailand, Micronesia, Palau, Sri Lanka, Athens... the clothes got shabbier, but the smiles never dimmed.

They'd spent the entire summer together, she, Diego, Diego's girlfriend Zahra, and 37 students from Cairo's Imhotep Academy, between the ages of 8 and 12.

The next photo, taken from atop China's Great Wall, showed the frowning forms of several young boys writing in chalk along the stones, and if you squinted, you could make out the phrases. That is, if you spoke and read Quechua. She grinned, it had been one of her more creative punishments.

They had been difficult, at times.

But they had been marvelous under the circumstances.

The school had evacuated in June during a Death Eater attack focused on the student dormitories. Under the orders of Imhotep's librarian, Zahra's father, the three older students had gated the children out of danger, and had then been stuck moving them from place to place for the next few months.

And then they were gone.

Lucy tied the package back up and tucked it under her pillow.

She didn't know where they were, she couldn't. The children, along with all the other young students in the Western Circle, had been taken to Sanctuary. Sanctuary was not so much a place as a state of being. Intentionally, no one else knew where Sanctuary was, and it was the continued focus of the Circle on obscuring the location of the students, wherever they may be, that kept anyone else from finding them.

Lucy tied her shoes and tried to push the idea out of her head. They weren't even supposed to _think_ about Sanctuary that much, especially those with the gift of Farsight, because they may unconciously See Sanctuary. If you discovered where it was, you cracked the Sanctuary Spell, and opened it up to being cracked open by the probes of magic.

Which, she decided as she hurried downstairs, was why the dream was so disturbing. It wasn't a memory, she'd never seen the children in those clothes. It was possible that some of them were broadsending in their sleep.

And she was picking it up. It wouldn't be surprising, she'd had some problems with a few of the boys nightmares over the summer.

But if they were sending her pictures of Sanctuary, and she recognized it, it could be very, very bad. She was going to have to block them, or learn how to selectively Obliviate.

All in all this was entirely too much to think about before breakfast.

The Great Hall was not as full as usual for breakfast. It looked like Lucy hadn't been the only one having difficulty getting going that morning.

She slid into a spot at the table next to Parvati.

"Nice timing," she commented while passing Lucy the platter of toast, "Five minutes earlier and you would have been forced to listen to Miss Browning wax poetic about the marmelade. Consider yourself lucky and for gods sake don't ask her to pass you anythinng. Dean asked for the eggs and was rewarded with a seven minute description of our first breakfast together."

"I'll keep that in mind." Unfortunately, Lavender was currently in possesion of all the jams and jellies.

"I hate plain toast," she mumbled, searching about for the pumpkin juice.

A jar slid over and stopped next to her plate.

"Try that," William Lane was grinning at her down the table.

Lucy dipped her knife into the dark brown spread, slathered a healthy quantity on her toast, brought it to her lips, and promptly dropped it back on her plate.

"What is it?"

She turned the jar around.

"I thought as much. This stuff tastes like soy sauce."

"And that's a bad thing?"

"It's not exactly a breakfast food."

"Well, if you'd rather ask Lavender for the butter, but I'm pretty sure Neville would advise you against that."

She sighed, took a bite of her toast, and wondered how Vegimite had ever become such a popular spread.

"Schedules," Hermione laid a stack down in the middle of the table, and the next few moments were filled with the typical organized chaos. Eventually Lucy found her schedule passed into her hand.

"Double potions with the Slytherins...again. Well it's nice to know some things never change."

Indeed, the only new addition to the list for Lucy was Apparator's Education. Not that this was a positive change. Some of the older seventh years had taken the class in sixth year, and their incredibly detailed and gruesome descriptions of spliching were enough to keep Lucy gating forever.

_:How are your Tuesday and Thursday evenings looking: _

She glanced up and saw Bet's raised eyebrows across the Hall.

_:Same as ever, you can still meet at that time: _

_ :Yes. As long as it's after six, Snape's asked me to run a review session for the second year Arithmancy Slytherins. It appears they all barely squeaked by their final exam last year and he's been hearing about it. Doesn't want them to reflect poorly on the house, or some such nonsense. It counts for my term project for Arithmancy 7.: _

_:Works out nicely then.: _

_:Indeed. Leaves me more time to devote to-:_

_:Extra-curricular activities of the money making kind:_

_:Exactly. Speaking of those, I heard a rumor about you and a bunch of the international students.:_

_:Um, I was in Cleveland:_

_:Right, nevermind then. You're ok:_

_:I'm fine. I'll tell you once we've figured out what the hell happened.:_

_:Right. So, I've got App. Ed. with Rasheph this afternoon, I'll tell him to spread the word to Magnus, Tuesday night, eight:_

_:I'll track down Lynx, make sure he remembers to show Agatha the way in.:_

_:Oooh, I almost forgot about her. We ought to come up with some scary initiation rite for her and Magnus.:_

_:I was thinking of making them spend their first few days studying under Lynx. That's scary enough.:_

_:It's downright cold, that's what it is.: _

* * *

"And please remember that this term you will be responsible for an independent project. We will discuss the guideleines next time, proposals due in two weeks. Be advised that, given the requirements that lower level astronomy classes place on the Tower, I have reserved the faculty- research tower for your observations. I trust you will not abuse this privelege." 

The class snickered.

"Yes yes, well, I'm finished, be off with you."

The seventh years, by now well used to Sinastra's little quirks, gathered up their charts and made for the door. Lucy was pondering making a quick stop by the BA workroom to check on things when she felt a hand on her shoulder.

She turned to see the smiling face of Lukas Getman, a fifth year Hufflepuff and member of the International Society.

"Hey Lucy."

"Lucas, have a good summer?"

"Can't complain, you?"

"I can, unfortunately. So what's the message?"

"Tonight, dinner meeting, can you tell your people?"

Lucy cringed. "Never refer to the Lane brothers as "my people". And where do you plan on having this soiree?"

"The Hufflepuff private dining room."

"You have a private dining room?"

"Of course. Be at the bottom of the main staircase at six o'clock and we'll collect you."

"All right."

"Oh, and Lucy, tell the Slytherins for me?"

Lucy sighed, "You're going to have to grow up sometime, you realize this?"

"Listen, you have an advantage, you know, over Easter you lot, like, bonded."

"We were nearly asphyixiated inside the home of a sarcastic meglomaniac and were forced to flee through a window."

"Da, like I said, you bonded. They seem to like you, they certainly roll their eyes less when they see you, and most importently, I drew the short straw, Vladimir is the only Slytherin I have class with, and he has never forgiven me for consistently getting higher marks in Ancient Runes. Let me off the hook, I beg you."

"You know that this pathetic whining is the reason Hufflepuffs are universally mocked, don't you?"

"Mocked yes, beat up, no, we leave that to cheeky Gryffindors by having the good sense not to but in where we aren't wanted."

"Fair enough. I'll swing by their table at lunch."

"Better you than me."

"Coward!"

"Hey be nice or we won't feed you. See you tonight."

* * *

At five minutes to six, the Gryffindors descended the staircase into the main entrance hall. A few moments later the Slytherins emerged from the hall leading down towards the dungeons. 

Kentaro looked past them, up the stairs. "Where's the Ravenclaws?"

Alessandra Dicus scoffed, "They probably already knew where it was."

"Where it vas, how it vas furnished, and zee names of every person to set foot in it in zee past ten years." Katya huffed. Normally her accent was not so pronounced, but she appeared irritated, and Katya always sounded more Russian when she was irritated.

Dimitri headed straight for Lucy. "Do you have it?"

Lucy snorted, "What, did you think I would lose it in the past 24 hours?"

This apparantly did not register with Dimitri, who waited impatiently for an answer.

"Yes, of course I have it. It would make the meeting rather pointless without it, don't you think? As it was I nearly tore it trying to get it back from _that_ adolescent twit."

She jerked her shoulder towards Nicholas, who stuck out his tongue.

"Svetlana was nice enough to write up copies of a translation, so everyone can have a read."

"Is that a good idea?"

Lucy shrugged, "Can't hurt. I'm not sure why we aren't talking about this anyway, but seeing as we are not, the ink has not been activated yet, and once it is it won't last for more than two hours. I'd say the secret is safe."

"Clever trick."

Marguerite had told her about it, but Lucy wasn't about to tell that to Dimitri.

At the stroke of six, Karol Cjakowski, a towheaded Hufflepuff second year from Krakow, came down the stairs. He looked extremely proud to have been given this responsibility.

"I'm supposed to take you up the back way, follow me."

Rather then taking them back up the stairs, he headed off down the right hand corridor, turning before they got the library, turning again, pretty soon Lucy was completely lost.

He moved surprisingly fast for so stout a fellow, and she had to stretch her legs to keep up.

"The food better be worth it," Vladimir puffed along next to her.

"All the food in this castle comes from the same place, I doubt we have to worry."

"True. So have you come up with any theories on who blew up the train?"

Lucy raised her eybrows. "You're not serious."

"Huh?"

"It would take a fanatical amount of work to ferret out the details of the investigation, the timing, the suspected device, and suspicious characters all in less than 24 hours."

"Well, yes, I suppose, but you really haven't thought of anything?"

"There isn't a point, Vlad."

"What do you mean! We were att-"

Lucy placed her fingers over his mouth as Karol stopped them in a dimly lit hall and began opening the first of eight broom cupboards.

"There's no point in _me_ doing all that, not when the Ravenclaws will have it all sorted out by now anyway."

Vlad grinned.

"Just a minute," Karol was apologizing, "the staicase moves, don't step in there yet, you'll fall straight to the dungeons...here we are. Everyone up."

They then climbed what had to be the narrowest, twistiest stone spiral staircase ever created. It was nearly completely dark, Lucy kept her hand against the wall, and was nearly blinded when she came around a corner and was hit by the light bursting throught the open door.

Well, she never would have thought it, but it appeared that it was good to be a Hufflepuff.

* * *

"It makes no sense." 

"That's your conlcusion? I don't believe it. We were counting on you guys to-"

"_If_ you will let me finish, despite the fact that the bombing doesn't make the least lick on sense, we are not without our theories. Marguerite, the slides, if you please."

Nicholas' jaw dropped. "They have _slides_? We've been here less than a day and they have _slides?_"

Next to him an unperturbed Lucy grinned at Dimitri as she reached across to serve herself a third helping of pudding.

Sometimes you just wanted to hug the Ravenclaws.

Marguerite waved her wand at the far wall, and the occupants of all six tables swiveled in their very comfy chairs to watch a screen appear. At Sergei's nod, Marguerite flicked her wand again, and the first slide appeared on the screen.

"As you can see from this photograph of the damage..."

"When did they take _that_?"

"I think Aysha took it before we were herded onto the train..."

"Shhh!"

"The point of detonation can clearly be seen here. An initial sample analysis suggests that the cause was actually tri-nitro-toluene."

"Tri-nitro-what?"

"TNT, a common non-magical explosive."

"Non-magical?"

"Correct, however it is still possible that magic was used to trigger the explosion. In classical uses of TNT, a long fuse is used to trigger an explosion, so that the individual lighting the fuse might be far enough from the explosion to remain unharmed. However, that would require the remains of such a fuse to be found in adjacent cars to the blast sight, and none were found."

Lucy had a sick feeling in her gut, why would they use TNT?

"There is also the matter of the minor explosions."

"Minor explosions," Katya replied archly.

"Indeed. Being involved in the accident as you were, you could not have known that there were additional disturbances in three other parts of the train. A loud sound, and a slight tremor were heard and felt, but nothing akin to what you experienced. No residue was found after a thorough examination of the train."

Lucy decided that how the Ravenclaws managed to organize a thorough examination of the train was just another of their many mysteries. And may the little Gods bless them for it.

Vlad put down his fork, "So, if there was no residue, were there any explosions at all?"

"Not that we can conclude. The effects observed could be the result of an advanced glamour."

"What would be the purpose?"

"It could be that they were meant to distract the aurors on the train from the real explosion in the back. Given where they were located at the time, they would move towards the phantom explosions first. This would delay them from reaching where the last car detached."

"Providing time for someone to get away."

"Exactly, it was at least twenty minutes before the aurors even reached the last car."

"More than enough time."

Lucy thought of the footsteps outside in the snow.

"Why would they have been interested in hanging around the car?"

"What?"

Lucy described the footsteps.

"You think someone was trying to get into the car?"

"Someone definitely tried the door. The luggage was pushed up against it and it wouldn't open."

Warren shook his head, "They didn't say anything?"

"Like what? 'Are there any students buried under six tons of luggage?' This wasn's a rescue attempt, if that's what you were after."

Aysha sighed. "I knew we should have sent out scouts."

"The train was _leaving_ Aysha, sending more students out into the dark was not an option."

"We will evaluate theories as to the individual outside the last car and present them at the meeting next week."

Lucy pulled her head up. "We're having a meeting next week?"

Gisella raised her eyebrow. "Of course, to review the responses we recieve to the letters."

Alessandra Dicus shook her head. "What letters?"

Sergei sighed, as if explaining something to a small child. "The ones we are going to send out in response to the invitations. Which brings us to the other topic of the evening, the invitations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang. Svetlana, Marguerite, the translations, if you please."

With a flick of their wrists, the two girls distributed one copy each of both letters in front of every individual.

"Marguerite, why don't you read it aloud for us?"

The small girl smiled nervously, but spoke in a strong, clear voice.

"_To the International Students Society of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry:_

_It is my responsibility and honor to convey to you the warmest greetings from your fellow students at Beauxbatons Academy. The exchange of words and ideas between our two institutions has been far too sparse, and the current student government wishes to change this situation."_

Nicholas interrupted. "Student government?"

Marguerite nodded. "Unlike Hogwarts, Beauxbatons has varied its organisation over the years, and has been a little more politically attuned to the muggle government. Ever since the Revolution, Beauxbatons students have elected and run a student government, known as the Tribunal. Every student can vote for a president, vice president, secretary, treasurer, as well as a representative from each year, except the first years, whose interests are protected by student by-laws."

"And this Tribunal does what, exactly?"

"It protects the interests of the students, serves as a liason with the school governers and the headmistress, and regulates disputes that both parties would rather the faculty not be aware of."

"So, the teachers aren't involved?"

"Not formally. In fact, the Tribunal was a secret organisation for years really, until former students became faculty and therefore already knew of it. The teachers are not involved, elections are still secret, but the staff usually has their ways of finding out who is in charge. The delegation, for the Triwizard Tournemant, was almost entirely made up of current or former Tribunal members. They had to elect an interim president when Fleur went away."

Aysha cleared her throat, "Can we move on, please?"

Marguerite blushed.

"_We have learned much from the recollections of our fellow students who visited you two years ago, and from the recent publicity surrounding the formation of your young society. You seem to be people of great courage. It is also encouraging to know that your group seems to have moved beyond the stringent boundaries Hogwarts places between students from opposing houses. This requires a certain level of enlightenment and tolerance, which demands respect and admiration._

_It is for these reasons that you have been chosen as a possible contact, a link, between our two schools._

_These are dark and dangerous times, and we as student body are quite confidant that our elders are not providing us with the information we deserve, especially as regards the developments and actions of dark wizards in Britain. And we are not so naive as to believe that what is happening in your world will not spread to ours. Indeed, signs are appearing to suggest it already has._

_Knowledge is power, and it seems only logical that it would be mutually beneficial for our two schools to establish a means of maintaining communication with each other. It is possible that through shared news and shared ideas we may serve to better protect each other from what is to come._

_Last year, as a result of friendships formed during the Tournament, a similar alliance was established between Beauxbatons and Durmstrang. It seemed natural, in the midst of all the rumors, for the continental schools to band together, especially considering all of the staff changes occuring at Durmstrang. With the graduation of the founders of that alliance, a more formal establishment of communication has already been agreed to, and it is at this time that we invite Hogwarts, through your society, to join us._

_If this arrangement is agreable, please send word to France by owl. You may reach the Tribunal, which will be your contact, by writing to the current secretary, Odette Pasquier, at Beauxbatons Academy, France. They will responed within a week to set up terms and a schedule._

_Good Luck,_

_Fleur Delacouer, Beauxbatons alumnus and former Tribunal President"_

"Fleur!" Lucas Gettman nearly fell out of his chair. "_She_ wrote the letter?"

Lucy looked around for an explanation. "Who is Fleur and why is Lucas hyperventilating?"

Katya snorted and leaned over. "She was the Beauxbatons Champion in the tournament. She's part veela, or so I've heard. An absolute knockout. It took weeks of training before the boys could see her and keep their tongues from falling out. She graduated that year, works in England, if I heard right."

"Probably why they had her write the letter of introduction, someone we knew about, that we trusted."

Svetlana poured herself another batch of pumpkin juice. "Makes sense, both non-Hogwarts champions were chosen as liasons, to get the ball rolling, because we would remember them."

Wesley lane, with the ears of a fox, perked up. "What do you mean, _both_ non-Hogwarts champions."

Svetlana waved her orgininal copy of the Durmstrang letter. "Read, you idiot. Durmstrang contacted us through-"

"Victor Krum!"

And Lucas fell out of his seat again.

Lucy elbowed Nicholas. "I think this would be a good time for one of you to read it."

Svetlana was already on her feet.

**"International Society of Hogwarts-**

**I write you on behalf of the students of Durmstongs. In light of recent events and at the urging of friends in France, they propose an alliance of information between your two schools. Durmstrang students are fairly sure they are not being told all they need to know. And if your Daily Prophet is any indication, the know you are not being told much that is useful either. In fact, the only person at your school who seems remotely connected to events in the outside world is Harry Potter, but he frequently seems to fall into catastrophe of some kind, and is therefore not a reliable source."**

The Slytherins snicked, and Lucy herself could help chuckling. He was right, calamity seemed to follow Harry around just as closely as heroism and kudos.

**"Both schools are joined by their remote locations, far from the events of the world. Schools can easily become prisons, however, if the students allow it. It is this reason that prompts the students of Durmstrang to extend this invitation. You would be in touch with the Rear Guard, a semi-secret student organization that has been around since the days of the first war. They are trustworthy, and dedicated to protecting the students.**

**If you wish to pursue this arrangement, contact the Guard through Boris Kazimierz, Durmstrang Academy. You may send the letter by owl, and in English, Boris speaks it nearly fluently.**

**We trust you will see the wisdom in this arrangement.**

**Victor Krum**

**Durmstrang Alumnus, former Rear Guard Sergeant at Arms"**

"I volunteer to read the Durmstrang letters, they seem to be a lot shorter than that flowery French s-"

Marguerite was glaring at Mikhail.

"-stuff," he finished diplomatically.

"Before we get down to that, is there a discussion about opening a means of correspondance between Hogwarts and the other schools."

"Since when do we speak for Hogwarts?"

"We won't be," Lucy stood up. "We won't be speaking for anyone. We will simply be telling them any information we pick up. Passing it along. If things keep getting worse than that could be vital. As is our getting any information _they_ can find that doesn't make it into the questionable lines if the Daily Prophet."

"Lucy's right," Dimitri settled back in his seat, content to address the room from there. "We've been singled out because we are just about the only student group Hogwarts has. We don't have a government, we don't have a Rear Guard, whatever the hell that is, and while I'm sure I'm not the only one in this room who knows about a few of the secret societies that exist here, those groups are too secret to be used as a contact. In terms of organized student representation, we, I am sorry to say, are it."

There was a fair bit of silence, interrupted only when Svetlana swatted away Koji/Kentaro's attempt to grab Krum's letter for the third time.

"Krum did have a point about our being isolated up here." Mai added.

"It can't hurt, can it?" Karen Chao chimed in.

Gisella looked at Lucy, who looked at Dimitri, who looked at Sergei; they nodded.

"All in favor of trading information with the Continental wizards?"

The chorus of Ayes was loud enough not to warrant a tally of the dissenters.

"So," Sergei steepled his fingers on his chest, "How shall we go about doing this?"

Lucy shrugged. "It seems to me Marguerite is the best person to handle writing the Beauxbatons students, she understands them the best and can communicate in their own language."

Marguerite blushed. "We could always have someone write them in English, they do speak it, some of them. Maybe someone older?"

Dimitri shook his head. "But you're French, the only French student here. Your parents are ambassadors, your brother went to Beauxbatons, you're practically one of them."

"I'm a Ravenclaw!" The little blond girl put on a stubborn pout.

"Of course you are," Aysha patted her on the shoulder proudly, "Which is yet another reason why you would excell at this kind of a project, one that requires wit and diplomacy."

Gisella raised her eyebrow, "You aren't suggesting that we leave this all in the hands of the Ravenclaws do you? I don't think that would help our image of breaking down barriers and such."

Aysha shook her head. "Of course not. Actually, I was thinking Lucy would be a good choice for dealing with Durmstrang."

"Me!" Lucy squeaked. "I don't speak a word of Russian, Slavic, or Bulgarian!" That was a lie, she spoke a few words, most of them involved in asking where to find a bathroom.

"They said that Boris fellow speaks English."

"Well in that case, anyone could do it."

"Not anyone," Dimitri sighed. "It can't be a Slytherin."

Lucy stared at him. "And why on earth not?"

"Karkaroff," Katya snorted.

At Lucy's blank stare Vladimir elaborated

"Their old headmaster was kicked out when it was revealed he was a Death Eater. They may be willing to communicate with us, but from their letter it sounds like they are only doing it at the urging of the Beauxbatons students. We give them a Slythering correspondant and they'll think it's an insult. Trust me, I understand their sense of honor."

Lucy looked over the Slytherins, they were all nodding grimly.

"He's right," Sasha shrugged, "They know Slytherin's reputation. They may not believe it, but they won't appreciate the symbolism in giving the tainted school a tainted contact. It can't be one of us who writes to them."

"And the Hufflepuffs? Why can't they do it?"

Gisella laughed. "Reputation again, I'm afraid. In a way, we're in the same boat as the Slytherins. Durmstrangers are a touchy bunch. Just like you can't give them the most hated house, no offense, you can't give them the least distinguished either."

Lucy stared once again.

Lucas laughed. "Hufflepuffs are proud of the traits that bind us together, but we are smart enough to know that these are not necessarily aspects that other people respect or admire. We know we appear to be the least impressive house, it doesn't bother us like it will bother the Durmstrang students."

"They'll think it was a insult."

Lucy shook her head. "I still don't see why it should matter what house the person is from. Didn't they just tell us they were impressed with the fact that we had risen above all that?"

"That doesn't mean _they_ have. It's diplomacy Lucy. The French students won't mind Marguerite's age because she's French. And they'll prefer the Ravenclaws because that's the house they were pretty chummy with when they came for the tournament."

Everyone nodded.

"Durmstrang is a different story. You never met them, but they are damn touchy. They won't be satisfied with a second year, they'll want one of the oldest students, which, by the way, you happen to be. And they will want someone from a distinguished house. Everyone knows Harry Potter is a Gryffindor, you can't get more distinguished than the TriWizard Champion."

Lucy looked from nodding face to nodding face. "So, I'm stuck with this, is what you are telling me. There is no way to get out of being Boris's penpal for the year?"

"Nope," William looked ridiculously pleased.

Lucy sighed, because she didn't have enough to do already.

"Well," Gisella cracked her knuckles. "Why don't we get a group organized to draft our first letter to each school, stating our intentions and gratitude, etc? Like an opening statement?"

Sergei nodded. "Good idea. It can set the tone for the year. After that Lucy and Marguerite can keep the contacts open, we can discuss any pertinent information to send at meetings and they can compose their own letters to Odette and Boris."

Dimitri leaned back even further in his chair. "We also ought to devise a way for this information to reach all of us in a speedy manner, in case something is urgent. We can't just call a meeting every time a tidbit pops up. And waiting for a meeting to find out might not be practical."

"Enchanted noteboard," Aysha murmered to Sergei.

"Of course, but the that's temporary, it erases after what, an hour? We want a record..."

"Enchanted notebook than."

"Oh, that's good. There are several Welsh charms that work very well for that sort of work."

"I was thinking more along the lines of allez ink, but that could be another way to go..."

"Well, we could combine them, like a Juntosimini spell-"

Katya had had enough. "English if you don't mind!"

Sergei blushed. "We were just discussing a faster way to deliver information without holding a meeting every week. But this will take a little time."

"Which means we _will_ need a meeting next week." Gisella sighed. "The house elves are going to require a little attention to swing that. Ok, same time next week. Anyone interested in working on the opening statements meet in the library tomorrow after dinner. Does that work?"

Everyone nodded. Lucy sighed, they were going to have to push back the BA meeting. And she was supposed to start observations to get ideas for her Astronomy project.

It wasn't possible. It just wasn't possible that it was the first day of school and she was exhausted already.

She blamed the Ravenclaws.

OoO


	4. Chapter 4: Running Blind

Chapter Four: Running Blind

"_We are made wise not by the recollection of our past, but by the responsibility for our future."_

_~George Bernard Shaw_

"Agatha, stop fidgeting."

"Look at the grass!" This statement, delivered with all the awe and wonder at everyday objects normally reserved for those on acid trips, caused Lucy to sharply examine her new student's pupils

"Agatha," she kept her voice very calm, "You did wash your hands very well between Herbology and lunch, did you not?"

"Yes, yes," came the irritated reply from Agatha's mouth, which was very close to the ground now as she inspected the lawn.

"What do you supposed they use to cut the grass?"

"Hmmm?" Lucy rolled her eyes, "I have no idea. Don't you know how wizards mow the lawn?"

"I live in the Farm, we haven't got one."

"No grass, on a farm?"

"Not _a_ farm, _the_ Farm, Broadwater Farm Estate, in Haringey. It's mostly pavement, but look here, it's too short to be growing on its own, but it can't have been cut mechanically, because the vines are intact."

"What vines? The place looks like a golf course."

"Here," Lucy found herself facedown in the dirt rather unexpectedly. She'd say this for the city girl, she wasn't delicate.

"See the vines? They wind around the stem, and if you pinch them- see! They move! And they pull the grass with them."

Lucy had no idea the landscaping at Hogwarts was so complex. "And what, new grass comes up to replace the old grass and the old grass dies. Biological lawn care. Typical Hogwarts. Why simply make an effort when there is probably a magical creature that will do it for you. This grass is scratchy anyway, a golf course would be better."

Agatha, an Herbology wiz apparently, happily chirped on about grass species that had been domesticated by wizards for food and defense, and practical jokes, for another ten minutes before abruptly stopping, settling herself on the lawn, and staring at Lucy intently.

Lucy sighed with relief. This was Agatha's pattern, apparently. She had a voracious appetite for knowledge, and Lucy had wondered at first why the girl wasn't in Ravenclaw. Then she realized that Agatha's record attention span was about nine and a half minutes. She flitted from one subject to a completely unrelated topic, the connection clear in her brain, but often a mystery to those around her.

It was one of the reasons they were having this lesson outside. The winds had picked up as September rolled on, but it wasn't entirely unpleasant out of doors. Inside there were far too many distractions. The library was out of the question, as Agatha's interest in everything clearly extended to people as well. With her keen observation skill, but small circle of friends, she rarely had someone with whome to share her discoveries on the intricate social structure of the Slytherin gamling set, or the latest gossip about who was dating Hesperus Hedgepeth this week. Lucy had no desire to be that person, so it was best to remove Agatha from temptation.

"All right, now let's being with the breathing exercise. Focus only on the breath, in, and out, hear your heartbeat and nothing-"

"HEY! LUCY!"

"-else."

She dropped her head in defeat. Agatha's aura, which had been slowing down, was now alert and pulsing erratically as she jerked her head up and scanned for the source of the interruption. He was sitting about a hundred meters further down the lake, waving cheerfully.

Lucy sighed, "_Yes Lynx_" she spoke very clearly in his head, if a bit loud.

"OW!"

"_Don't be such a baby. You can hear me."_

"YEAH! BUT IT MAKES MY HEAD ITCH!"

"_That's because you are fighting it. You need to exhale, pretending I am standing next to you, and listen."_

"WHAT?"

"_Listen."_

"WHAT!"

Lucy jumped to her feet. "I SAID LISTEN! YOU IMPOSSIBLE, ENCOURIGABLE,-"

She stopped when she saw Lynx laughing hard enough to fall off his log, collapsing in the sand, his shoulders shaking.

"Stay here Agatha."

"Don't hurt him Lucy."

"He'll live." She stomped down the shore to where Lynx lay on the sand, pursing his lips together in a futile attempt to smother his laughter, resulting in a shockingly scarlet face against his white blond hair.

He brushed the hair out of his eyes and squinted up at her. "Gotcha."

Lucy merely scanned the shoreline. The wind was picking up, pushing waves against the beach, and it didn't take much of a gust to push the next set a few feet further.

She deftly stepped onto the log as the water surged below her feet, soaking the smug Hufflepuff.

His scream caused Agatha to jump to her feet.

"YOU PROMISED!"

"HE'S ALIVE!" Lucy shouted back.

Alive and soaked from the back of his socks to the hood of his sweatshirt.

"If we are all going to work amidst distraction today, then yours will be the basic distraction of the cold and wet."

She smiled, and gestured to the stones. "Now, call me, politely, when you have them stacked and balanced."

"Wouldn't now be an excellent time to work on the firestarting skill?" Lynx shivered and gave her his most pathetic expression.

Lucy rolled her eyes. "You can lay a twig on top and light it, it will make it pretty, but nothing else, and you better find a dry one- pull if off the tree."

"I can light a wet one."

"I don't want you lighting anything other than kindling until we have this under control. Light the twig, and don't char it, CONTROL, remember?"

Lynx rolled his eyes, wrung out his sleeves, and set to work.

Lucy returned to Agatha, who seemed to realize what kind of a mood she was in and was waiting patiently.

"Ok, the breathing exercise."

The exercise went well, and Lucy was hopeful they would reach a new work record of 6 straight minutes when Agatha said, abruptly.

"What is the point?"

She bit her tongue, and counted backwards in three languages. Agatha was her new exercise in patience. Her saving grace was that the girl never asked the same question twice.

"The point is that these exercises help you focus on you, your own patterns, in breathing, circulation, energy pulses, and you have to know yourself very, very well before you can begin to work with energies and matter that is not of yourself."

"How long does it take to know yourself?"

"Sounds like a question for a philosopher or a guru, of which, I am neither. But to know yourself well enough to start working outside yourself, it depends. When you can ground and center, and shield. Those are the most important."

"How long did it take you?"

"It was a long time ago," she said shortly. Truthfully, she didn't like thinking back on her early days of training. It brought up too many memories of home, of Diego, who was far away, and her father, who was even farther. "But I had a relentless teacher."

"Relentless, how?"

"Well, when we were working on this stuff, we would work in the deepest darkest room in the school, so I couldn't rely on my other senses, I had to Look and Listen without my eyes and ears."

"You weren't scared of the dark?"

"Nope," Lucy chuckled, "I never was. It did backfire a little, in that I would run around the school at night in the pitch black. Which scared the beejeesus out of the other professors."

"You ran into them a lot."

"No, they were pretty easy to see and sense. People in general are- one of the first games was doubleblind tag- with my brother and I both blindfolded and relying on Sight to get each other. Which was fun, until Diego turned 9 and his Sight became better than mine and I never won again. I had to settle for making him find me in really difficult to get places, I was still smaller. The big problem was that I wasn't so good with inanimate objects, I hit a lot of ladders and doors. Antolin lived in dread I would fall down the stairs or off a roof and break my neck."

"Blind hide and seek sounds like fun."

"We can play it as soon as you master these exercises."

Chagrined, Agatha went back to her breathing.

Five minutes later…

"So why do you have to keep practicing this stuff- what's it good for if you already can see in the dark."

"Well, your body changes as you age, as you exercise different gifts, and the basics are also necessary for-"

"_BUGGER!"_

BOOM!

Lucy immediately swivled her head left to see the whisps of smoke and smell the unmistakable traces of broken sulpher bonds coming from a spot 100 meters down the shoreline.

"Control," she groaned, and leapt to her feet, with Agatha right behind.

They found Lynx on his back, his hands over his face, next to a toppled pile of rocks and, Lucy groaned, a small soaking wet piece of driftwood.

"This is so humiliating," Lynx groaned from behind his hands.

"What is it?" Agatha, fascinated, leaned in, but Lucy's restraining hand on her shoulder kept her from getting too close.

"You all right?" Lucy asked.

"Don't laugh," with a sigh, the Hufflepuff lowered his hands.

"Wicked," Agatha breathed.

Lucy's mouth may have tweaked up at the corners, but to her credit, she did not laugh, she merely sighed.

"Not again."

Lynx's white blond eyebrows had been burnt clean off.

%o%

* * *

The whole situation was a mess. With Lynx was laid up re-growing eyebrows (and several vital nerves required to show emotion) she had to foist Agatha and Magnus's next lessons on Bet so she could make it to the BA meeting to draft the letter to Durmstang.

The same meeting that had turned into a total fiasco, and lasted over an hour before Lucy, realizing that they would never get anything accomplished if every phrase had to be unanimously agreed upon, called a halt. She would write the damn thing herself, promising to be as diplomatic as possible and upon her head be it if she so insulted this Boris fellow that she bungled the whole thing.

"He better have a damn sense of humor," she muttered to herself as she sat by the lake, not far from the site of Lynx's disastrous attempt to delicately combust driftwood, quill out, parchment spread over a book on her knees and tried to describe Hogwarts in a completely honest and unbiased way.

"It's cold, drafty, and inhabited by several hundred hormonal adolescents, all with itchy wand arms, no respect for natural order, and miniature God complexes."

She began to realize that this might have been a very big mistake. As she tried to determine what Gisella would consider diplomatic, she was distracted by a song that kept running through her head.

_I hear the train a comin, it's comin' round the bend, and I ain't seen the sun shine since, I don't when. I'm stuck in Folsem Prison, and I can't get free._

Prison, appropriate, and yet perhaps a titch exaggerated. She scratched behind her ear and tried to focus. But the song wouldn't go away, in fact, it was getting louder. She recited the alphabet, backwards, and in Quechua, but the tune persisted. She hummed the national anthem, the Folger's coffee jingle, and the Barney theme song- all guaranteed to take the place of whatever was running through an idle person's brain.

Nothing. Nothing but the continued lamentations of a man who wished he could move _a little further down the line…_

She was about to give up when she caught a blur of orange pass by off to her right. She turned, and found herself with an armful of orange feathers. Familiar orange feathers.

"Sparks! Sparky my boy, is that you?"

She looked down into the grayish blue eyes of the chicken sized bird happily snuggled in her arms.

Sparks had been Lucy's last Care of Magical Creatures assignment. She had shepherded the orphaned phoenix through his eggfancy for Hagrid's class. During which time, his egg had burned through several cauldrons and scorched the floor of the BA workroom before finally hatching in a small-yet-impressive pillar of fire at the end of term. She studied him intently; he was certainly much bigger now than the chick she had left with Hagrid at the beginning of the summer.

"Looks like you've been eating a lot of...of..."

It occurred to her, quite shamefully, that having taken care of him in his egg phase and then left him mostly to Hagrid, she had no idea what a grown phoenix ate.

"…stuff," she finished lamely.

At least, she assumed he was eating well. Disentangling her quill from his inquisitive beak, she set the paper and ink aside and stretched out in the grass to study the grinning (did phoenixes grin?) bird that was flying low clumsy circles above her head. Sparky was small for a phoenix, and this was likely his full grown size, about 2/3 to a half the size of a full grown bird.

His natal nest had been abandoned and lack of care in early development resulted in an egg Hagrid had secretly been unsure would survive at all. As it was, Sparky was the size of a small underfed chicken, and sported the coloring of a blushing pumpkin rather than the brilliant ruby red normally associated with his species. He had a few bright and rust red feathers that stuck out garishly against the orange background, and his eyes were a smoky gray rather than the expected brilliant blue. Still he looked healthy and happy.

"Sparky? Eh, there ye be. So you found yer old friend at last eh? How are you Lucy?"

Lucy smiled up at Hagrid, craning her neck at what appeared to be mostly beard from her perspective. "Fine, he just came winging right at me."

"Eh, well its to be expected. He knows his mum."

"And he's been ok? Nothing weird?" Hagrid had not been the most optimistic for Spark's chances the last time they had spoken.

"Well," Hagrid scratched his chin, somewhere in his beard, and shifted a bit. "He don't grow much, as you see, and that is probably as big as he'll get. An I don't know hows his other abilities will work out."

"Hmm?" Lucy had been scratching Sparks under his chin and was only half listening, "what d'you mean?"

"Well, phoenix tears is supposed to have healin' powers, an' they can normally carry the weight of several men, but I don't know how well Sparks will do that. Havn't tested him yet, as his still such a youngin'."

Lucy thought about that. "You'll just show us when you're ready, won't you, you little stinker?" The bird was grinning at her, that was the only way she could describe it, and at the moment she didn't give two figs about his magical abilities.

_I've got sunshine on a cloudy day. When it's cold outside I've got the month of May. I guess, you'd say, what can make me feel this way?_

"Ah, then there's tha'" Hagrid grimaced and shifted uncomfortably.

_My girl. My girl.._

"What? Sorry Hagrid, I just got a new song stuck in my head." Lucy shook her head as if to physically dislodge the Temptations, but to no avail.

_My girl _

Hagrid sighed, "No, yeah don't."

Lucy frowned. Hagrid pointed to the bird grinning up at her. His beak was still closed, and while it looked like he was humming, she could hear the lyrics distinctly.

_Talkin' 'bout, my girl ._

"That's _him_?"

"Been doin' tha' all summer. Never heard this song though, his was playing a lot o' Weird Sisters last week."

"I don't' get it."

Hagrid shrugged. "Pheonixes is known for their beautiful singin'. Little ones normally start with a few long notes after six weeks. Sparks, he starts with Celestina Flockhart around the end of July. Far as I know, he can't really sing, sort a picks up on songs from the wireless, learns 'em, and repeats 'em back."

"Huh, but I bet that song wasn't on the Wizarding Wireless."

"I never heard it."

"It's a muggle song, I don't know how he learned it, unless …can he pick up muggle radio?"

"Hmm, don't see why not. Pity tho', phoenix song's one of the most beautiful things you'll ever hear. I just don't think he can do it. Anyway, he's pretty much on his own now. I still have his perch and give him treats, but he stays around the outbuildings mostly, outside of the castle as that's Fawkes's territory. You might come out for a visit now an' then though. Shame about the music."

"Don't listen to him Sparky," Lucy crooned as she watched Hagrid shuffle off. She sighed and scratched under his chin as she looked from her blank paper to the castle she was supposed to describe. "I don't really fit in that castle either."

She turned back to her letter, thinking about how even the avian species of Hogwarts divided into territories.

"I guess I'll just have to wing it Sparky. Here we go…" She picked up where her first sentence had left off.

"Sometimes it seems like the only thing binding Hogwarts students together is an irrational love of Quidditch and the unspoken fear of what they are not being told."

That wasn't all of course, but she shouldn't mention the rest, or could she? This might be less complicated than she thought. She was never going to meet this Boris, so in theory, she could be completely honest. And after all, wasn't that what an open information exchange was all about?

"There is also, of course, the black market dealings in willow weed, French cigarettes, hard liquor, and Veela porn; the Hufflepuffs, surprisingly, are the principle dealers of the latter, but other than that the separate houses don't cooperate or communicate much."

She sighed in contentment. This might be fun.

Of course, if Gisella ever found out, she'd probably kill her.

%o%

* * *

"_You actually wrote the other school about the Hogwarts channels for swapping skin mags?"_

"_And the magic mushroom dealers, and the faculty's tacit acceptance of the Ravenclaws' abuse of Pepper-Up potion as a means of staying awake to study."_

"_The others are going to kill you, you know this?"_

"_The others don't have to find out. I sent the letter off last weekend, and while I did submit a summary of the main points, I may have left out a few details of what went into the final draft."_

"_You're evil."_

"_I am not, it's for the good of the school. The more open we are with them, the more open they'll be with us, I mean, Gisella practically told me to tell them this."_

"_Gisella told you to tell the Durmstrangers about the unauthorized breast augmentation charms being performed by the Slytherin sixth years?"_

"_Well, no, I don't think Gisella knows about that actually."_

"_Come to think of it, hermanita, how do _you_ know about all this? You're not that popular."_

"_How do you know I haven't become a social butterfly these past few weeks?"_

"_Because I know you, and you're more like a social phasmid. Not to mention these people creep you out."_

"_Not all of them."_

"_Progress then, so how do you know about the boob jobs of 16 year old witches?"_

"_It's been raining a lot, Agatha and I have been practicing concentration in the library."_

"_And?"_

"_She gets distracted easily, but the girl knows everything."_

"_Right, and do you think you should be encouraging this?"_

"_I don't have to. But as long as she's there, it's for the greater good."_

"_Yes, I'm sure that information is really going to make students around the world more safe."_

"_It will when they read about what happened when Cecily Craven got the spell wrong."_

"_I don't want to know."_

"_It was incredible, headlights the size of-"_

"_How's your old science project doing?"_

"_Sparks? It's like having a radio follow me around."_

"_And no one says anything about a strange orange bird following you around the castle?"_

"_Well, compared to Fawkes he's pretty much unnoticeable, not that anyone actually _sees_ him. He perches above the windows, out of sight, but certainly not out of hearing. Although, and thank the little gods for it, I tend to think that a lot of the time he sort of "tunes" to me."_

"_You're sure it's just not songs in your head?"_

"_I think I'm learning to pick up on when it's me and when it's him. There's some low level static when he's targeting me. That doesn't exist when he's singing out loud. It's like getting used to someone when you first start speaking telepathically, I think I'm learning his voice."_

Diego's telepathic 'voice' was perhaps the only one she had never had to get used to. She had immediately known him the first time they had "spoken", as he had known her. His was also the only voice she could hear across such long distances, although on her part it either required a state of deep meditation, as she was currently doing, or a huge adrenaline rush. She could also pick up subtle nuances in tone from Diego, it was as if he were speaking in her ear, as opposed to Bet's voice, which currently sounded like it was coming from the bottom of a well. Lynx was the worst, while he didn't really have any formal telepathic abilities, like any mentored student still had enough unconscious familiarity with her brain patterns to get her attention, albeit with all the skill, volume, and clarity of shouting from an adjacent mountaintop.

He also very often didn't know when he was doing it- when she could distinguish words, they were usually profanities of some sort.

Diego's "voice" at the moment, sounded nervous. Knowing her brother, he would dance around what was bothering him unless confronted.

"_What is it? You might as well spit it out before I fall asleep here."_

The only place Lucy could meditate without attracting too much attention, so she claimed, was in her bed, in corpse pose. She had fallen asleep during chats on numerous occasions.

"_It's about that."_

"_Seriously? OK, I know it's rude, but I'm trying to be-"_

"_Not _that_ you idiot. I don't care about that, except that your mental snore is a powerful and disturbing thing that I try and avoid. I'm talking about what has been happening once you fall asleep. Once you start dreaming."_

Oh, that. She had been trying to forget.

"_It's not going away, is it?"_

This was tricky territory, and Diego knew it. They were not supposed to be discussing it, it weakened the spell. But by not speaking directly about Sanctuary, or the children there, or how they seemed to be unconsciously communicating with Lucy in her sleep, they left the spell incredibly vulnerable. Carrying on a conversation about a vague and mysterious "it" that was neither vague nor mysterious, was delicate.

"_No, it isn't. It is, in fact, getting worse."_

"_Worse? How- I mean, don't tell me, but-"_

Tricky. She couldn't provide details; they would only increase Diego's conscious thoughts of Sanctuary, resulting in two holes in the shield, rather than one. She sighed.

"_It's not always the same, but it is getting clearer."_

_You don't _know_, do you?_ The panic in Diego's voice was controlled, but there. If she discovered the location of Sanctuary, the spell would be compromised, the children would be exposed.

"_NO! I'd have done something if that were the case. It's just, more."_

The dreams were a constant thing now that she wasn't living under the shields of a Circle school, they had become more frequent ever since she arrived at Hogwarts. They usually consisted of Lucy, running through forests with her young charges, playing games, never actually discovering where she was going, but getting a very clear picture of where she was. Too clear a picture, a picture nearly clear enough to gate to. She wouldn't let that happen. If it meant she had to Obliviate every memory she had, she wasn't going to be the one to expose the last hope of a Circle under siege.

Diego knew his sister well enough to guess the decision he was making her contemplate, and even as a fist closed over his heart, he pushed.

"_You know what Abraham would say."_

"_But I can control it!"_

"You can_ control it, but they can't! This isn't a one-time thing anymore Lucy, this is becoming a channel, it is expressly what we were warned about."_

He was right, she _hated_ when he was right. And while she knew he didn't _want_ her to have to make what was rapidly becoming the obvious choice, the responsible choice, he was at the moment the only one she could whine to about it.

"_I don't want to."_

"_I know. I know you don't." _

And because he knew her so well, Diego also knew what he had to threaten to do in order to have his way. He could _feel_ her wavering, and all it would take was one good push to tip her over to certainty. It was manipulative, something no one but a well-trained Empath would be able to do, to so completely understand a person that the right words will convince them to do exactly what you want them to. He was one such empath. He smiled bitterly, wasn't he lucky?

"_I can come, I can do it for you."_

"_NO! We had a deal, no more of us at Hogwarts than is absolutely necessary… I'll do it. I'll do it myself."_

Diego closed his eyes, a sighed. He wasn't relieved, he should be, hadn't he had done his job? But he didn't feel better. How could anyone who had just asked his sister to cut out a part of herself possibly feel better?

"_You don't have to do this alone. Come here."_

"_No. I can't. Lynx is all over the place, he burned off his eyebrows again, and there's the pen-pal thing, I have responsibilities. I can't leave."_

"_You shouldn't be blocking a mental path without someone else there at least _guiding_ you."_

"_I'll get Rasheph to help. He's managed to get into my thoughts before, he has the instinct, and the patience."_

"_He won't know what to do."_

"_Neither do I, but it's my head. No one knows it better than me, except maybe Papa, and you."_

Diego sighed. He hated not being able to help, especially when he felt responsible. But Lucy's stubbornness was something he only took on when it was absolutely necessary. His coming would help, but it would make _him_ feel better more than it would help Lucy. Much as he hated to admit it, his little sister had been taking care of herself for quite some time. She didn't always do a great job, but she was hardly helpless.

"_When?"_

"_What day is tomorrow?"_

"_Friday."_

"_I have a session with Rasheph tomorrow afternoon. Maybe we can do it Saturday."_

"_I better hear from you Saturday evening or I'm sending in Virgil. Make sure you keep the Mirror on hand, in case there are any complications."_

"_You mean in case I block the wrong channel and forget who I am? What good would it do then?"_

"_It's not funny Lucy."_

"_You're just worried I'll forget about you."_

"_You won't. I won't let you."_

His confidence gave her confidence. Memory modification was uncommon, but in theory perfectly safe. However, mistakes had happened, usually when someone was stupid enough to modify their own memory rather than waiting for a trained Healer or Empath. There was a possibility that she would kill the wrong set of nerve impulses and erase memories of her home, childhood and family. She didn't want to think of what might happen if she screwed up. She wasn't sure there would be anything Diego could do, but she didn't want to remind him of that.

"_I'll be counting on that. So how is life at Maintainer Central?"_

Diego understood the subject was closed. And while he could still feel her fear and apprehension through the Empathetic link, he knew Lucy's "fake it till you make it" attitude all too well. She was going to act brave, in the hopes that, come Saturday, she could actually _be_ brave. So he went along with the change in subject, launching into a story about Huck, Puck, Tuck, and a game of strip poker with a very attractive pair of Swedish exchange students, who turned out to be very attractive con artists.

He could hear Lucy's mental yawn as he reached the part of the story where the Maintainers stumbled home stark naked, only to find themselves too drunk to actually _find_ home.

"_Seriously, this is the best bit of the story."_

"_Sorry, I'm sleepy. You should go, I'll probably start snoring soon."_

"_I think I can stand it. Go ahead and drift off, I'll stick around until you fall asleep."_

And because she was his sister, and he loved her, and because he had just convinced her to effectively erase her happiest memories of the past two years, he stuck around long after her grotesque mental snoring became regular and pronounced.

He would have just drifted off without severing the connection, as they had done as children, but the odds were that Lucy would dream of Sanctuary again, and he couldn't risk seeing that. They weren't children anymore.

"_Good night Luce."_

Then he carefully closed the connection before drifting off to sleep.

%o%


	5. Chapter 5: Boris and Fifi

**Chapter Five: Boris and Fifi**

_"Sometimes paranoia's just having all the facts."_

_~William S. Burroughs_

"It looks like smog. Do they all look like that, or is my head just particularly filthy?"

"I've never actually seen one quite like this. It's purple."

"Is not!"

"There's nothing wrong with having purple psychoplasm."

"Nothing about me is purple. It's clearly some form of bluish grey."

Rasheph rolled his eyes. "Do you have a container?"

"Oh yeah, here."

"You can't keep it in there!"

"Why not? It'll smell minty fresh."

"I don't think that's… sanitary."

"Well, unless you have something better-"

"Give it here…. Now hand me the spell-o-tape…wand."

Rasheph took a breath, sealed the container and preformed the binding charm that effectively bound the psychoplasm inside the peppermint tin. He looked up at Lucy.

"Well, do you remember?"

Lucy tilted her head, raising her eyebrows in an expectant expression, like she was waiting for him to finish the sentance. "Remember what?"

_……24 hours earlier……_

"Did you look under the couch cushions?"

Agatha sighed, "I checked twice."

Lucy growled, "Damn it, that chart took three days, I don't have time to remake it before tomorrow!"

"Yeah, but the formation won't be in place for weeks-"

"It has to be approved before I get access to the faculty tower. They are due tomorrow.- Get up."

"What? Why? You already checked these cushions!"

"Now we are going to check under the couch. Help me shift it."

Agatha groaned, and with good reason; the sofa was enormous. "What did they build this thing out of, rocks?" She was sweating, out of breath, and leaning against the wall while Lucy sorted through the assorted papers under the sofa, none of which appeared to be her star chart.

"Is that," Agatha squinted, "is that what I think it is?"

"Your guess is as good as mine, but once upon a time I would say it was probably pudding."

"Not _that_, and, may I saw, ew, I mean _that!_" Agatha toed a magazine out from under a stack of discarded runes translations, botched potions essays, and a copy of the Tattler.

Lucy raised one eyebrow at the scantily clad witch atop a broomstick. "Huh, swimsuit issue. I guess some things are universal."

"I'm not touching that. Third year boys pass those around, there's no telling where it's _been_."

"A wise decision I think. We will just have Lynx clean this up, but let's wait to tell him until he has his full range of expressions and facial hair back."

"How do you know it's not Rasheph or Magnus?"

"They're Ravenclaws, Ravenclaws are much too clever to get caught like that."

Agatha thought for a moment, and shrugged.

Lucy sighed. "Ok, we can put it back now."

They had both just collapsed on the cushions when Bet sailed in, elegantly removing her cloak. "Well, I just came from the invalid, and, it must be said, he looks even funnier than he did the last time. It's amazing how you don't really notice eyebrows until they're gone. Oh here Lucy, I accidentally scooped these up with my homework."

She dropped a large pile of papers and star charts in Lucy's lap, ignoring Agatha's groan.

"Enough lazing about Agatha,," Bet continued, "let's get started. Grounding and centering is tiring work, so I hope you're well rested."

Agatha glared at Lucy.

"Oops. I'll just be going then." She tucked her papers into her bag and headed for the library.

Rasheph was waiting at a table in the far corner, amidst the theology books, a seldom-used portion of the school's collection.

"I need to ask you a favor." Lucy said quickly, before she lost her nerve.

"It doesn't involve Dementors again, does it?"

"No, nothing like that. I need you to help me forget something, well, someone…. actually it's several someones."

The tall Indian boy smiled charmingly. "Darling, I can make you forget all about them. We're going to need some candles and a bottle of wine-"

"Come on Rasheph, I don't have time to mess around."

"Right, straight to the tequila shots then."

"Seriously!"

"Seriously, do you prefer vodka? Because I'm out, but Bet has some. Or we could go wild and get some magic mushrooms from Getman."

Lucy groaned. "Please grow up."

Rasheph's eyes lost their teasing, his brow furrowed. "You don't want to forget about an old boyfriend, do you?"

Lucy sighed. "No, and I can't really tell you who, just that I need to erase all the memories I have of a group of people, and I need to do it permanently."

"But why?"

"I can't tell you. I've never done it, but there is a way to cut the nerve connection to that precise area of the brain which stores those memories, and I can't do it by myself, I need someone else, just in case."

"In case of what?"

"In case I cut the wrong connection and forget who and where I am."

Rasheph swallowed. "Why not Bet, she's better-"

"Bet deals in the concrete areas of the mind, she hasn't been lost and had to find her way out, which _you_ have. Working inside someone else's conscious is a delicate thing."

"Which I shouldn't be doing. Lucy, why don't you have someone from, you know, YOUR people do this?"

"They can't come here, not after this summer. And I can't leave, I mean, have you seen Lynx lately?"

Rasheph grinned, "Don't know what he's complaining about, I think the look suits him."

"I need to do this fast. Can you help me?"

Rasheph sighed, looked into Lucy's eyes and shook his head.

"Nope."

"Please-" Rasheph held up a hand.

"There's absolutely no way I'm standing around while you sever bits of yourself. First because, well, it sounds gross. And second, it's completely unnecessary. Just take the memory out."

"Huh?"

Rasheph sighed, "You need to start trusting wizarding medicine a bit."

"Never."

"This can _help_. All you have to do is perform a charm that targets the memories you want removed, it adheres to that part of the psychoplasm, and changes the polarity so it separates from the rest of your memories, and it and _only_ it is removed through the pores at the temple."

"Removed?"

"Yes."

"To where?"

"Well, it exists in a semi-gaseous state, and is usually stored in unbreakable glass vials, although that's merely tradition. I once stored a bad dream of mine in a shoe box for an entire summer."

"If it's outside my head, can't other people see it?"

"Only if they have a Pensieve, and those are really rare nowadays."

"And you've done this before?"

"Yeah, since I was 12. I tend to have a lot of nightmares."

Lucy nodded. With Rasheph's talent for sending and receiving images, it was likely he had pulled in the nightmares of other students more than a time or two.

"I can teach you, it'll be easy because you already know the energy signature of your brain well, you'll be able to target really fast I bet. You charm the memory, extract, deposit and seal."

"Now _that_ sounds icky."

"It's painless, and far less risky than what you described."

Lucy sighed. She hated spells cast on herself, it made her feel dirty. But if this was the only way to protect Sanctuary then she really didn't have a choice.

"Right, how about tomorrow afternoon?"

_….24 hours later…._

"You're really going to carry it around in a_ peppermint_ tin?"

"It's strong, won't shatter, and isn't shiny enough to steal."

"What if someone finds it and wants a breath mint?"

"They'll never get it open."

Rasheph shrugged, "It's your memory."

Lucy stuck the tin in her pocket absentmindedly and stood up. The room spun.

"Easy," Rasheph guided her to a chair. "That'd be the psychoplasm reorienting. Give it a minute. And you shouldn't go swimming for at least an hour."

"What?"

"Trust me."

Lucy sighed, leaned back in the large armchair and waited for the echo-like feeling in her head to subside.

Rasheph watched her intently, as if waiting for something to happen.

"Relax Dr. Radu, I'm not going to collapse, I had a good teacher."

"It's just that I've never actually taught someone else how to do that before."

"Well, you're off to a great start. Trust me, I'm not exactly an honors student."

"Speaking of that, how are you liking Apparator's Ed?"

Lucy leaned her head back against the chair and closed her eyes. "I dropped out."

"What! Why!"

"They showed us a film-"

"Don't be ridiculous! They always do that at the start of class, it's just meant to scare you into paying attention."

"It was hideous! People leaving bits of themselves, sometimes _highly personal_ bits, all over the place; winding up without livers, or fingernails, or _tongues_! It's a gruesome form of transportation."

"It's fast and efficient and most wizards look forward to getting their licenses."

"Then they clearly weren't paying attention to the case of the wizard who left his _bladder_ behind! Only slightly better off than the poor guy who splinched his colon. Which is one of those cases when _everyone_ loses."

"But it's a rite of passage!"

"And one that I have elected to forego. It's _barbaric_, I won't do it. I refuse."

Rasheph rolled his eyes. Sometimes Lucy hated how far behind she was, he understood, but here was the one class where everyone stated on the same footing, and she was too stubborn for her own good.

"You can't refuse! How are you going to get around?"

"I can gate if I need to."

"Oh yes, ripping a giant hole in the fabric of space and time is a more elegant solution?"

"At least when I arrive, I know it will be in one piece."

"You arrive exhausted and with a headache, you've said so yourself."

"Well, I don't need to do it _every_ day."

"How-"

"You might not realize this, but billions of people on this planet live long and happy lives without ever having to dematerialize."

"And it takes them _ages_ to get anywhere."

"Haven't you ever heard the phrase, "It's about the journey, not the destination?"

"Sounds like a Muggle said it."

Lucy groaned and leaned her head back against the cushions. Wizards, honestly, what could you do?

* * *

"**Dear Lucy,**

**I received your letter, and speak for all Durmstrang students when I say how happy we are to be communicating with Hogwarts."**

"Now that's a lie, and you know it."

"You want me to start off by telling her we had to ply Constantine with vodka and caviar, placed bets to determine who had to write the god damn letters, and I lost my free time and my best pair of slippers because you are a dirty, dirty cheater?"

"Well, when you put it like that I suppose your way does sound better, and I did not cheat."

"Is that so?"

"It is."

"You didn't touch that bludger?"

"What on earth are you suggesting?"

"I am suggesting, that you, Stephen Oblonsky, were perhaps the first student in the history of the Rear Guard to emerge from a Bludger Elimination completely unscathed."

"That's not so, I had a mouth injury."

"You bit your tongue!"

"And it was excruciating. I was forced to have Natalia examine it very, very closely."

"And she's still not speaking to you?"

"Yeah. It's quite nice actually. Read on."

Boris rolled his eyes, and returned to what he had written.

"**As to the caveat you mentioned in the first paragraph, I have spoken with Constantine Golernishev, President of the Guard, and he expressed his understanding that the views and opinions expressed in your letter were yours and your alone and should not be taken as a reflection of the opinions of the rest of the student body."**

"Very diplomatic of you to leave out Kostya's commments about inbreeding and mental deficiency, the British aren't exactly known for their sense of humor."

"Where is Constantine anyway?"

"I'm not sure, but I am quite confident that wherever Anna Nikitin is, he isn't far away."

"Is he still after that?"

"Golernishevs like to have their way. Pity, no one told Anna that."

"She's not falling into line?"

"Hardly, she keeps forgetting who is family is, which drives him nuts, _and_ she's better at Charms than he is, which he really can't stand. He tries to act casual, but he's distracted, really distracted, he poured coffee into his porridge this morning and almost blew himself up in the lab. Personally, I hope this goes on for months, it's better than the Ivana and Iosif show. They're off, by the way."

"Thanks for the update."

"**He also instructed me to tell you that my views and opinions are most often the opposite of his, so if at any time I truly offend you, to please enclose a note and he will take care of the problem immediately. With Constantine I can only imagine this will involve spiking my drink before coercing me into some sort of a card game in which he will likely take me for all I am worth, which is, to be honest, quite a bit less than I was worth six years ago. **

**What you must understand is that Durmstrang is a very remote place. Traditionally we receive little contact from the outside world during the term. If it sounds like the isolation could not get more complete, and many of us thought so, you would be mistaken. Mail is vital to the school. It has always been screened, however recently whole letters have started to go missing. Family owls that used to deliver messages and gifts have begun to refuse to come here, returning home with undelivered post. Or, worse yet, gone missing altogether. They say a change in wind patterns due to a cyclical rises in sea temperature has been blowing them off course, but it never interferes with the official school correspondence, which our sources tell us, comes in regularly. We fear something else is harming or frightening the birds away.**

**This was the principle reason for the enchanted score that I sent you, and why it had to be sent from Beauxbatons. There are just a few left in existence, and we were only fortunate enough to have the copies we use because of a friendship formed between Valik Oblonsky, one of our representatives at your TriWizard Tournament, and a talented Beauxbaton's Conservatory student, Gigi Lefebvre."**

"My poor, homely elder brother says hello, by the way."

"His letter got through?"

"Postcard, really. And it was delivered by the largest owl I have ever seen. That was a few weeks ago, and when I replied I told him not to send anymore. It looked like an expensive owl, shame to waste it."

"Where is he, anyway?"

"No idea. With Gigi though, that's all he ever lets on."

"**She gifted him the score at the end of the year, and he left it with the school after graduation. Gigi donated her score to Hogwarts. The key signature encryption device, which I would love to take credit for, was also worked out by a third party, one of our sixth years whose mother was a cellist and whose father worked for the KGB. So while I am happy you find the method so enchanting, the only piece of the puzzle that I can take credit for was the means of swapping the key signatures back and forth. Vasily may look small, but he's very smart, and his night flying skills seems to be keeping him from falling prey to whatever has kept the owls away."**

"You might also point out that he has the temper of a rabid dog and no beast in creation would possibly voluntarily approach him. Has she had all of her shots?"

"He is a sweet tempered animal, he just doesn't happen to like _you_, Stiva."

"But _everyone_ likes me!"

"Well, someone was bound not to, can I finish this?"

"**He's a Mongolian Messenger Bat, which were quite common until they fell out of fashion several centuries ago. Although used to great effect by Gengis Kahn, enthusiasm waned, mostly due to domesticated owls becoming all the rage on the continent. In addition to coming from a fine bloodline, we've enhanced him with a few spells, for speed and protection. However, at his size, what he can't bear is heavy loads, which was why we needed a way for just a brief message to encode a larger one. The key signature algorithm is automatic, and when applied to my score, will decrypt the music into words, without requiring Vasily to carry much more than a scrap of paper.**

**No, he does not need to be fed. He makes the trip in remarkably short time, and the smell of petrol that surrounded him when he returned leads me to suspect he has been saving energy by hitching part of the way clinging to muggle air transport. You may let him wait inside, if he happens to come before you have finished, but he's a creature of the North, and can more than handle waiting outside. It is entirely up to you."**

"You should ask her about the shots!"

"That is completely unnecessary. He's a very clean animal."

"All I'm saying is that if your family pet starts teething on Hogwarts' chosen representative, it's going to create some friction. For all we know he bit her when she mailed her reply and she's never going to speak to us again."

"Fine, I'll add a disclaimer."

"**On second thought, it would be best for all if you just had him wait outside, and when attaching the key, try not to make any sudden movements."**

"Satisfied?"

"Not remotely. Would have been safer using dragons."

"If you don't shut up and let me finish, I'm going to fall behind on my chart. And if I fall behind on my chart, I'm not sharing the meaningless gossip she puts in between the more salient details."

"But I want to know if the Brown girl has been drinking again. She's worse than Nadia."

"I heard that!" Came an angry alto voice from the darkness.

"Chyort," Stiva cursed. "The problem with these observation tents is you can see the stars just fine but it is impossible to see who else is out here.

He could hear Boris chuckling from his neighboring tent, which provided a perfect viewing area for astronomy, while protecting from the bitter, freezing Arctic wind. "You'll never get her to date you now, Stiva."

"I didn't mean you my dearest, I meant Natalia!" His friend tried to salvage.

"I can hear you too, Stephen Oblonsky, you good for nothing chyortov dog!" Came a second disgruntled female voice

Stiva groaned, "I need to date someone who isn't in astronomy."

Boris chuckled, then grew quiet as he began to write again. Stiva might just get his wish. Their astronomy professor had not been seen in three days, and it was only a matter of time before he was replaced.

* * *

......One week later.....

"They scan their mail?"

"Every word, always have. But now owls are being attacked, going missing, and nothing ever comes in. The school owl population has disappeared. That's why they have to use alternative means to reliably communicate with us. They are entirely dependent on Beauxbatons for news from the continent. I gave them the Prophet headlines, not that they were any help. Especially since most of what we exchange is who is alive and who has died. You know there is a rumor floating around Austria that Harry Potter has a stronghold in the Alps?"

"Odette heard it was Siberia." Marguerite added.

"From what I hear from Boris, it's horrid in Siberia this time of year."

"Is there ever a good time of year for Siberia?"

"July the 23rd, from noon until three," Sasha Yudin said dryly, not looking up from her soup.

Vladimir rolled his eyes. The sudden disappearance of Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger had been all the school talked about for a full week, and rumors of the manner of their deaths were only trumped by the rumors of where they were and what they were doing. People seemed more worried about the school's most famous student than they did about the headmaster, who had not been sighted for quite some time. That meant McGonagall was in charge, and she had been absent all yesterday, leaving the students in a state of panic, for when McGonagall was absent, Professor Snape ran the school, and no one was happy. Not even the Slytherins.

"Ok- let's keep on topic, what else?"

"I wrote down most of the salient details here."

"Salient details?" Vladimir raised an eyebrow.

"Well I didn't think the society or the school needed to be appraised of the filler gossip and small talk. The staff changes at Durmstrang are what really make them nervous. Very few of the old and respected professors remain. They have a tendency to retire quite suddenly and are replaced almost immediately."

"By who?"

"By people who are clearly not teachers. More like wardens. They are assigned independent study, acres of parchment on obscure topics in old magic, spells that were abandoned eons ago as impossible or forbidden, they are being made to research every detail."

"What for?"

"They don't know. Fact of the matter is that the Durmstrang Library takes up an entire two floors of the school, and it has the most extensive collection of banned books, scrolls, and manuscripts on the continent. They aren't being set essays on the Troll Uprisings of 1508, they are doing research in what is essentially the largest restricted section in the world."

"If someone wanted information from the library, why not simply raid it?"

Lucy smiled. "Because the founders built the school like a fortress, to protect the students, and they designed the library to preserve knowledge _for them_. No one but a Durmstrang student or teacher can read any of the books in the library. They are each charmed by the librarian to either lock or become blank when accessed by anyone who is not student or staff."

"But you said they had employed new staff-"

"That's the good news. At Hogwarts, the school chooses the students. Students are also invited to Durmstrang, but _so are the faculty_."

"The teachers are sorted?"

"Well, no. Boris won't tell me the process, said it wasn't important. What was though, is that the school did _not _choose the teachers that were recently brought in, because they're unable to open the textbooks."

"So teachers _can_ come that aren't chosen?"

"I imagine the same way that I'm here even though my name didn't appear on the Hogwarts rolls."

"But you can open the books-"

"Clearly our school is less picky. The point is, the Durmstrang _students_ are being used to do someone else's work."

"Why not just drag their feet, bungle it a bit, you know, resist?"

"They're trying, but it's a slippery slope. Anyone suspected of trying to sabotage their assignment gets put in the Potions Lab."

"Potions isn't that bad."

"It is when you are assigned to manufacture poisons and unstable potions which, if done incorrectly, will seriously hurt someone. In one case they set a student to making the poison, and the other the antidote, then tested them _on_ the students."

"What happened?"

"The poisoner had bungled, but not enough, so when they made another student drink the botched potion, although it didn't kill her, the antidote couldn't cure her either. By the time the professor got around to making the proper antidote, her vocal cords had been burned off. She'll never speak again."

Marguerite shuddered. "And they have no way to escape?"

Lucy shook her head. "The school is very, very remote. Same restrictions on apparating that apply here. Not to mention they have been promised that if one student breaks the boundary rules, the entire school will be disciplined."

Dimitri tapped his quill against the table as his gaze tracked around the room. "The bit with the owls is new, but in theory we could have Hogwarts owls being scared off as well, to a lesser extent. We'd never know- come to think of it, how did _they_ know? That something's attacking the owls?"

Lucy shrugged, "They didn't say."

"If You-Know-Who is going after owl mail, other people need to know, I mean, more than just us," Nicholas glanced around the room.

"Which brings us to the Lane brothers," Gisella smiled. "Who have proposed a safe means of communicating information to the school at large."

Wesley and William stood up and bowed with a flourish. "The problem with distributing notes or flyers is that eventually, they are going to be seen, and _someone_ is going to get caught."

"Caught by who, and for what?"

"We have to assume that if You-Know-Who can plant teachers in one school, it's possible that there are people inside _our_ castle who have- complicated allegiances, let's say. We don't want any one person getting attention for knowing things that the Prophet never reported, speaking about news items that we could only have from abroad, it puts the whole system at risk, and it could put more pressure on the students at Durmstrang."

"Add that to the insult of getting caught. Our brother Warren," William laid his hand over his heart, "would never stand for his brothers being associated with amateur level subterfuge."

"He would only be satisfied with the highest level of subterfuge, and that is what we are going to give him. With these," with a snap he held in his hand a set of perfectly ordinary looking felt tip pens.

"Sharpies?" Lucy raised an eyebrow, "Your plan is magic markers?"

"They are indeed, magic markers. But it is not so much the tool as the canvas that is the genius part of our plan," Wesley grinned. "Marguerite, the slide it you would."

"How did you get slides!" Lucy cried, but no one listened.

A picture appeared on the wall at the far end of the table.

"Um, Wills-"

"I think you got them mixed up."

"No we didn't."

"That is a picture of the third floor bathroom."

"That's Myrtle's place."

"Exactly, it will be empty, no one will notice."

"Notice what?"

William threw a marker at Lucy. She stared down, appalled.

"Graffiti! That's your big plan! You want me to _tag_ Moaning Myrtle's bathroom?"

"Not so much tag as communicate important bits of news like: 'Your owl is not safe.' 'Beware the false Prophet'"

" 'Get out while you still can?' " Sasha grinned.

"Teachers are used to seeing graffiti, they won't think anything of it. They don't take it seriously. But once word gets out that the messages are legitimate, people will be able to stay in the loop without risking being caught. You can't very well assume that everyone using the bathroom is up to something."

"Won't all the people suddenly flocking to Moaning Myrtle's attract attention?"

"We aren't going to restrict ourselves to Moaning Myrtle's. There are plenty of markers, the more people we use, the less anyone snooping will be able to find common handwriting and such. Oh, and Vladimir fixed the ink."

"Fixed?"

"Increased the glycerin content," Vladimir shrugged, "it will take it longer to dry and appear, so the messages won't show up for over an hour. People won't be able to trace you leaving the bathroom with the appearance of a message."

"Not that anyone is going to notice anything new in the east dungeon boys bathroom. You'll be lucky to find a blank space."

"Any note that doesn't involve Snape in an anatomically impossible position is just going to be ignored anyway."

Katya rolled her eyes at the Tsujimoto twins, then leaned toward Dimitri and added quietly, "You know, they do have a point."

Gisella smiled contentedly. "Molto bene. Lucy and Marguerite will continue to enter their notes from each letter into the cheat books," she gestured to two battered blue test notebooks on the table, "once entered the notes will then appear in the linked books in each of the remaining three houses. With each house having a complete set of notes, you can select the most important information to distribute to the entire student body using the pens. To maximize efficiency and minimize risk we will need a rotating bathroom schedule, I believe the Ravenclaws have drawn up a map?"

Lucy groaned as Sergei distributed maps _and _calendars. "Of _course_ they have."

* * *

....elsewhere, and a little bit later....

Her name was Josephine Rousseau, and she could hex the wings off a fly at a hundred yards. Standing still, she was completely ordinary. Pretty, but not beautiful, she had features that were pleasing to look at, and almost instantly forgettable.

It was her movement that gave her away. Too fluid while at the same time too controlled for a seventeen-year-old, as if you could stop her at any moment and no matter the position, even mid step, she could hold the pose with perfect balance.

And she could.

That kind of training only came from a lifetime, however brief, of study with the Ballet Marais. Only a handful of select students were allowed to continue their lessons while at Beauxbatons, where there had been a_ premiere maitre de ballet_ of the company in residence since the 18th century. The current balletmaster, Arthur Saint-Leon, had handpicked her from an audition of over 200 young witches when she was nine and a half. She had practiced her swish and flick at the same time she practiced her plies.

There were many other artists at Beauxbatons, the school prided itself on nurturing those skills and talents in the fine and performing arts which other schools ignored. And there were other dancers, students in larger classes taught by less eminent instructors. But Josephine was now the senior student of the most prestigious balletmaster in France, and had held that distinction for nearly two years.

So perhaps it should not have come as such as surprise that when Arthur Saint-Leon was blown up in late August, along with two principle dancers, the entire ballet corps, and half the audience of the Ballet Marais' September production of La Bayadere, Josephine Rousseau would take it the hardest.

She did not stop training; to do so would have been an insult to the memory of her teacher. No, she moved with the same fluidity and grace she always had. Her lines were perfect, one might say she was in the peak physical shape of her life.

Her motives, however, were a little different.

At the moment, her tiny frame and impossible balance were being put to use climbing along narrow ledges that ran atop the walls of the cavernous sewers that ran below her school out into the city. She approached the T junction, her ears straining for the slightest sound.

"FIFI! FIFI ARE YOU THERE YET!" The voice exploded in her ear and she wobbled. Raising an arm above her head to catch the ceiling and kicking out against the far wall to keep from falling she gritted her teeth and whispered into her lapel.

"Yes Michel. Turn it down a bit! Unless you want them to hear!"

A contrite male voice apologized.

"Just leave it in the middle of the junction ceiling, you can reach that far, can't you?"

"Sure," she muttered to herself. "No problem."

She slipped her free hand into her pocket and removed a small black button. She carefully wrapped the end of the wire wound through the button holes in the dark black putty, and, smushing the whole thing together, leaned out over the filthy water and stuck the button on the roof of the tunnel.

"Be sure and cover it." Came Michel's voice at a more reasonable volume.

"I really hate this part."

"Last one, Fifi."

Holding her nose, Josephine scraped a thick paste of mud-and-Merlin-knew-what-else from the side of the canal at her feet, and plastered it over the button. It now looked and smelled like any other part of the sewer. Just like the last several dozen of these she had placed inside the sewer complex. Only this junction was the most dangerous, since it was the farthest outside the palace grounds.

"C'est fini. Sacre Merlin. I need a bath."

"Good girl. Now, back as quick as you can. Everything looks like it is working from here."

Josephine began to creep along the ledges, hopping form one side of the tunnel to the other to accommodate for missing stones and the occasional minor rock slide. The stones were slick and narrow and it was unlikely that anyone without professional training would have been able to get it all done in one trip, and even _they_ were likely to have fallen. They had learned not to disturb the water.

"Left, Right, Straight," she heard Michel remind her as he guided her back, his bewitched buttons transmitting to his modified radio, showing him exactly where in the sewer complex she was moving.

She was in the final straightaway to the floodgate when she heard a shake to Michel's voice.

"Move faster Fifi."

"Michel-"

"It's miles away." His voice was flat and even.

"They move fast." She picked up her pace, stumbling once, falling out over the water before catching herself on the opposite side.

"Calm down Fifi. Get under the gate and light the water."

She flew along the tunnel.

"Talk to me Michel."

"It's confused, it's following the path you came in on, not the way you left. It gives us time."

"Nearly there."

"Remember, you can't have your feet down when you light it."

"I'm not an imbecile."

She made it to the exit, the ledge in front of her came to an abrupt halt, and sunken into the wall on her left, a short jump away, there was a small stone platform at the base of the cylindrical chimney sunken back into wall. The tunnel itself continued straight ahead into the darkness. The platform and cylindrical chimney were blocked off from the rest of the tunnel by an ancient portcullis. She had left it unlocked, and using one arm, raised it above her head before carefully taking one foot off the edge stepping onto the platform, sliding under the portcullis and pulling her other leg onto the platform before lowering the gate back down and locking it with the iron bar.

There was no ladder. Josephine deftly began to climb the rocks, pressing against the sides of the chimney to give her leverage. About ten feet up there was a trapeze, which she had been lowered down on. Bracing herself on her arms, she slipped her legs in, then gracefully lowered herself until she was hanging by her knees.

The chain swayed and she put out a hand to steady it. She couldn't be touching the walls.

"Fifi…" Michel sounded tense.

"I'm ready."

"Now."

With the precision of an Olympic marksman, she aimed for one of several dozen small, rusted metal boxes that lined the walls of the sewer tunnels. With a flick of her wrist, the fragile aged metal broke from the wall and tumbled into the air. Before it hit the water and sank, Josephine ignited the old kerosene wick with another silent flick. Then she hugged her head to her knees as the water and walls erupted in flames that shot down the tunnels in every direction, including up.

The coating on the chimney walls was thin, and and they only burned for a few seconds before the fire shot back down along the seething, burning water. Josephine blew out the breath she had been holding, clung to the chain as she pulled out her legs, and once again began to climb.

"Nearly there," she puffed, taking a break and balancing a foot in the chain and one against the wall, never, ever looking down.

"We need twenty seconds, they're almost in position."

"My arms are nearly dead, Michel."

"Fifteen seconds."

She reached her final foothold, the chimney was narrower at the top, and she crouched, her weight on the balls of her feet, below a circle of wavering light. It sparkled and danced, like when she would lay on the bottom of the school swimming pool and look up.

"Five seconds Fifi."

She took a deep breath, pushed her hands above her head, through what felt like a foot of Jello, and pushing off her feet and straightening her legs, stood up.

She was immediately drenched. She sputtered as strong arms reached through the umbrella of water and pulled her out of the bottom of the fountain.

Around her it was perfectly orchestrated bedlam. The main atrium of Beauxbatons was sparkling and bright and filled with people. A battle of hexes had drawn nearly the entire student body from the dining room to the atrium, and there were people lined up six deep surrounding the entire circular fountain.

Josephine could not make out what the big distraction was, no doubt Gabrielle would give her a full recount later. Five people were performing drying spells on her at the moment as another fastened her cloak around her shoulders.

"Ouch, damn you Bernard that thing is hot!" She hissed.

"Sorry" mumbled Bernard.

"Ten seconds," came a voice in her ear.

"Fifi!" She turned toward the sound of her name and deftly caught her rehearsal bag, tossed by an unknown student on the fly as the crowd rapidly began to disperse and Josephine and her friends strolled casually away from the fountain towards the East Wing. No onlooker would have suspected anything amiss, and no one who wasn't standing right next to the fountain would ever have seen the dark haired sylph pulled from the under the large umbrella of spray.

Students moved quickly and efficiently through the halls, the early morning light bouncing off the ancient gilded mirrors, and washing out the warm glow the shining Baccarat chandeliers cast on the thick Persian carpets.

Sweaty and dirty, Josephine clutched her rehearsal bag as a prop and glided toward the girls' dormitory.

"Fifi! Practicing early again, were we?" Right on cue, Madame Prideux, Astronomy, emerged from her room and raised an eyebrow at Josephine's attire as the girl nodded. "Goodness the halls must have been completely dark, up before the sun," she shook her head, checked her hair in the mirror, and gave the girls a smile before heading to her morning class.

"I thought all the studios were locked that early Fifi?"

"Not Monsieur Saint-Leon's studio," Fifi said quietly, as they entered the bathroom and she dropped her bag on the loveseat next to the make-up mirror.

"Ugh, no disrespect, but how could you work in there, with no mirrors?"

"There are no mirrors on stage, either, Marie. You have to get used to not looking at yourself."

Marie gave an exasperated sigh as the girls moved into the tiled shower room and the jets were turned on full.

"Shampoo, lots of it," Josephine demanded. "I positively reek."

Anne appeared at her side. "Lavender, best I've got. Did you get them all?"

"Yes. And Michel says they're working."

"Thank you Fifi. You're the only one who could have done it."

Josephine sighed as the warm water sluiced over her hair and shoulders.

"There was one down there."

Gabrielle sighed, "Yes, Michel told Julien, and he told Luc, and he told Madeleine, and she told Odette and she-"

"I understand, cherie."

"Julien wanted to go down instead of you."

"Julien would have twisted his gigantic ankles and fallen in before the first turn and then where would we be?"

This last comment came from the smooth contralto of Odette Pasquier, who had appeared in the mist of the showers and begun washing her hair.

"Doesn't anyone have class this morning?" Fifi rolled her eyes and giggled.

"Just the children. Ugh, I have a twig in my hair," Odette turn up her nose as she combed out her long red hair.

"And where were you?" Anne raised an eyebrow, "You missed everything."

"So I hear. I slept in the stables."

"All night!"

"Something's been scaring the horses. It's not safe to let them sleep in the paddock and if they get too agitated in the stalls they'll damage their primary feathers."

"And what made it safe for you?"

"I was with Sebastien, Yves, and Sophie, not to mention Monsieur and Madame Moreau. It was perfectly respectable. I just got a little dirty when we exercised them this morning."

"Anything from Hogwarts this morning?" Gabrielle wrapped a towel around herself and grabbed another for her hair.

"No, Marguerite usually writes at night. I don't expect anything until tomorrow."

"Durmstrang?" Anne kept her shower head running, but slid into her robe.

Odette shrugged, "I haven't checked in with Fernand today. This Anna normally writes during study hall, which is also in the evening, so nothing for the next couple of hours at least." Odette slid into her robe.

Anne waited until everyone was finished talking before she turned off the pounding noise of the spray.

As they filed out past the sinks and down the back hallway that lead to the girls rooms, their chatter was of boys, and hairstyles, and the latest fashion magazine arrived from Paris. No one listening would think their worries anything other than the typical drama of a set of teenage witches.

As they emerged, dressed, and ready for their next performance, Odette and Josephine paused, staring out the floor to ceiling windows into the fall morning.

"I have a funny feeling Fifi. Like nothing's ever going be the same again."

Josephine thought of her teacher, of her friends in the ballet, all gone, along with the mirrors Monsieur Saint-Leon had borrowed from the school for his summer studio, all lost in the fire. She thought of the fire this morning. Of the fires to come.

"No, it won't," she met her friend's gaze, "how could it?"


	6. Chapter 6: Mice and Monsters

Chapter Six: Mice and Monsters

_"But Mousie, thou art no thy lane,  
In proving foresight may be vain:  
The best laid schemes o' mice an' men  
Gang aft agley,  
An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain,  
For promis'd joy!"_

Robert Burns

"**Dear Boris-**

**Rain today, again. And I'm fairly certain your bat came in with icicles on his wings. Is there an animal abuse ministry? I hope not, I'm in enough trouble already.**

**Nothing serious really, except the Ministry seems to think I blew up the school train.**

**It's preposterous, I don't understand how they can mistake nearly being blown up for being the one causing the actual explosion. I should be the one suing them,**

**The Ravenclaws have theories. In case I do get arrested and you end up talking with one of them the rest of the year, you should be aware that Ravenclaws **_**always**_** have theories. What is more particularly annoying is that they also have flow charts, diagrams, and bar graphs to back them up. It takes hours- all for them to tell me in several different ways that I'm completely and utterly fucked.**

**(Sorry about that. I'm writing this a few seats down from a Hufflepuff who swears like a longshoreman and is working on a particularly difficult assignment.)**

**Anyway, it seems there are actual images of me hanging around the back of the train, and they apparently intercepted a package I was going to send that would reveal entrances to Diagon Ally to muggle American Embassy personnel.**

**None of it makes any sense. How could I be behind the train when I was inside it, buried under a pile of trunks? And while I have an envelope at the embassy, it certainly doesn't contain the entrances to Diagon Ally- you think I would let the eager-young Foreign Service girl who handles these things to get obliviated? She's sweet, and she gives me free soda. And yet nothing seems impossible in this place, at least when it comes to ways in which I am in trouble with the law.**

**I'm really a very mild mannered person. I've never even had a speeding ticket.**

**Several theories revolve around Polyjuice Potion and the like, so I should add right now that if someone ever claims to be me, you should ask them what happened to Diego's ten-speed. If it is me, I'll refuse to answer, for reasons that you don't need to know. You may then ask me what is the greatest rock band of all time. If I don't answer Creedance Clearwater Revival- stupefy at once. …"**

* * *

"**Dear Lucy-**

**Vasily has a long lasting anti-freeze spell, good for another year. The icicles probably formed on descent. He's fine. He seems plump- you aren't feeding him, are you? Please don't, he'll be spoiled.**

**It's snowing here. Winter set in early, and fast, and the big freeze will be here soon. Constantine is worried- once the sea freezes, our primary means of transport is rendered useless until the thaw. No one has attempted an ice crossing in five years, and the last person to survive one was Barrabas, now our cook, many years ago,shortly before he was expelled for the second time. Unfortunately, only Barrabas could physically consume the massive amount of vodka necessary to keep the blood from freezing and still have the mental competence make the passage.**

**Being confined makes the boys restless, we have increased Quidditch practice- it is still allowed, but confined to short sessions during lunch hour. The darkness comes early now, and they do not let us out after dark,**

**The third years have been set an intense assignment in the restricted section. Old texts, much of it on wandless magic, pre-occulmancy methods for manipulating thoughts. It is a difficult task for such young students, with only one seventh year to supervise their work- Constantine believes it is because third years are experienced enough with the library, but not trained enough to use the magic themselves.**

**It is my turn this week to forget an assignment, which will see me sentenced to Potions lab, where I can try and avert another disaster such as we saw with Katrina. No improvement there, she will never speak again. She communicates by tablet and Anna has been using her time as the senior prefect overseeing the third years to scour the library for books on sign language, or some other way to help her. For now, we will have to be more careful in our resistance. It would never do, for example, for me to go blind. How would I read your letters?**

**Have your esteemed Ravenclaws considered a metamorphagous? We have reason to believe many were recruited by…."**

* * *

"They have wizards that can do that- without Polyjuice Potion?"

"Not many, but some. Why did you want to know?"

Lucy sighed, and pretended to busy herself with her telescope. "No special reason. Is that Venus?"

Rasheph shrugged off her change of subject. He knew she tried to avoid telling the BA things that the International Society was up to, and since that confidentiality went both ways, he didn't press. They were alone on the Astronomy Tower, and it was the first opportunity they had had to talk in weeks.

"Lucy- about Lynx."

"I know, his eyebrows are growing back darker, does that mean he's not a natural blonde?"

"This is serious. I caught him a few nights ago, he was alone in the workroom-"

"OK, you can stop right there Prefect Radu. I don't want to know what a teenage boy was doing while alone in a concealed room."

"Did anyone ever tell you you have a dirty mind?"

"You told me I have purple psychoplasm, does that count?"

"He was using his gift."

Lucy leaned back from her telescope. "Is that what they call it nowadays?" Rasheph gave her an exasperated look, and Lucy sighed. "By gift, I take it you don't mean his telekinesis?"

"I'm sorry Lucy, he was working with fire."

Lucy made a sort of screaming sound in her throat. "Describe it to me in as much detail as you can."

After listening to Rasheph's description of Lynx systematically lighting the playing cards she had made him stack and pushing the flaming cards into the fireplace, it was difficult to go back to work.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have told you."

"No, no you needed to Rasheph. I just don't know what I can do about it."

"You'll figure something out."

"I better," she muttered, looking down at her chart. "When is problem 13 rising?"

"11:09, which means we might have enough time to get down and enjoy the last bit of the party."

Lucy sighed. "I never get to have fun on Halloween."

"Where were you last year?"

"Locked in an office with the rest of the International Society. By the time they stopped questioning us there were no tarts left."

She checked her watch- it was quarter past 10. She had been up at 6 am when Vasily arrive at her window, and had been going ever since. "I'm going to take a little nap. Wake me up at 11?"

Rasheph raised an eyebrow as Lucy folded her arms on the sill of the tower wall and snuggled down. No one could be comfortable that way. And yet, she was asleep in five minutes.

Rasheph leaned back in his chair, and looked up at the stars.

Lucy woke to find herself in a squalid stone cell.

A squalid stone cell that she had seen once before.

But she was not alone. The pile of rags in the corner moved, then stood and approached her.

The man was somewhat familiar, but she was sure she had never met him; a creature, with greasy black hair and a knotted beard, with intelligent black eyes that were also utterly and completely mad.

He lumberd closer, and Lucy tried to bolt but could not move. She looked in the opposite corner and saw a familiar face, pale and fixed in horror, and understood why she was aware yet paralyzed.

This wasn't her nightmare.

It was Rasheph's.

The man stumbled the final two steps, grasped his hands about her throat, and began to squeeze.

She couldn't move her mouth, wanted to scream desperately and couldn't, in the way that only happened in dreams. She shrieked mentally at Rasheph.

"Wake up! You can stop it! You can control it!"

Rasheph stared in horror.

"Rasheph! Please!"

Her world was starting to go gray, but she couldn't pull out, couldn't force herself out of Rasheph's mind without hurting him. On the other hand, if she lost sub-consciousness, she wouldn't be able to return to her own mind.

She tried to clamp down on her fear. Rasheph was already afraid, no need to feed it. If she was in his head, her emotions could influence him. If she had been a better Empath, she could have projected calm, now all she could do was try to be calm and comfort herself. To bury her terror deep down and ignore the image of the man strangling her.

She stared at Rasheph. Her tone calm and nonchalant. "This sucks, want to wake up now?"

She saw his eyes snap, unglazed. In one leap he was across the room, he pulled the man off her with one arm and tossed him away, where he disappeared.

His eyes full of shame he crouched in front of her. "I'm so sorry."

Lucy felt the horror dissipate, she took his hand in both of hers and squeezed. "It's OK, it wasn't real, just wake up."

* * *

"Every year," Madam Pomfrey muttered, hands on her hips as she surveyed the wreckage. No matter how tight the guard, the Halloween punch was inevitably spiked.

The results lay before her: a half a dozen concussions, two broken legs, a wide assortment of jinxes gone terribly wrong, and one successful transfiguration of a first year into a duck.

That didn't include the innumerable "headaches," and other poorly disguised hangovers and alcohol poisonings. A good dose of modified pepper-up potion and the afflicted were out the door as fast as they could stumble.

If there was one thing the students could rely upon, it was, on this night of the year especially, Madam Pomfrey was the soul of discretion.

Her guests Halloween night were predictably the same students year after year, so it was with no little surprise that she regarded Professor McGonagall when Rasheph Radu was hauled in.

"I have two more for you Poppy," the defacto headmistress floated a second stretcher into the ward.

"Yes, of course, put them down over here. Is it the usual?

"Hard to say, as neither was actually at the party. They were found when Mr. Filch went to lock down the Astronomy Tower at 11:30."

Poppy raised her eyebrows, "Oh, I see."

Minerva chuckled. "Believe it or not, they were both up there with permission from Professor Sinastra. They had the poor choice to pick projects that had important alignments this evening."

"They had a flask of the punch then?"

"If there was, we didn't find one. Possibly someone brought them something. It appears that someone raided greehouse 9 again and made a batch of contaminated baked goods. They may have ingested something without knowing it. The notes we found on their star charts are too accurate to have been made under the influence."

Poppy examined the girl on the second stretcher. "Miss Montero has a history of head injuries, I'll keep a close watch. Their vitals are fine."

Not long after Professor McGonagall left, Rasheph and Lucy awoke with a start.

"Awake are we?" Madame Pomfrey hurried over. "What was it then?"

"Huh?" Lucy looked around. "Why are we here?"

"Mr. Filch found you passed out on the Astronomy Tower. How many fingers do you see?"

After a brief exam and some pepper-up, they were both deemed in pretty good shape. Seeing as it was after curfew, they would spend the night in the hospital wing and return to their houses in the morning.

It was after 2, and neither could fall asleep.

"Have I mentioned how sorry I am?" Rasheph whispered from the bed next to Lucy's.

"Only a couple hundred times. If you don't stop I'm going to have to kill you."

"Better you kill me than me you." Came the bitter reply.

The moon had risen, bright, and it illuminated Lucy's face as her impatient expression softened.

"Why didn't you mention it in the first place?"

Rasheph shrugged, still staring at the ceiling. "Death Eater relatives were never a happy topic, even less so now. When you didn't ask after the first time, the day we met, it was easier to let it go."

"But the dream didn't go, did it?"

"For awhile it did, as I started getting better control. Then when they lost Azkaban…"

"It came back. I get it. Who exactly is he? The man in the cell?"

"My mother's brother. Her baby brother, Rasheph."

He heard her gasp. "You're _named_ after him?" The moonlight clearly showed her shock.

"I was born before he went to prison, before it was revealed, before anyone even knew who- what he was."

"What did he do?"

Rasheph sighed. "What _didn't_ he do would be a better question. Murder, bombings, torture- he was especially good at torture. He was apparently very precise, methodical, and thorough, Very much the consummate Ravenclaw," he added bitterly.

"Just because you share a name, doesn't mean you share anything else."

"I nearly killed you, didn't I? Something from my head ripped you out of yours and nearly smothered you to brain death."

"No." The force and tone of her voice made him finally turn and face her.

"You can't fool me Lucy. I saw how pale you looked when we woke up. You looked like a corpse, I was hurting you."

"You couldn't have."

Rasheph stared at her. "I don't understand."

Lucy didn't either, not completely. But she knew no one with Rashephs level of training could do what he was describing. And it was vital for him that he understand that. "You pulled me into a dream, that's true. You've done it before, with no harm done. Something else had to have occurred for the dream to change the way that it did."

She thought for a moment. "I pretty much fell asleep instantly. What were you doing when you fell asleep?"

Rasheph was silent.

"Rasheph?"

"Listening."

Lucy paused, "Listening to what?"

Rasheph turned his gaze toward the window, where Orion's belt could be seen glittering over the lake.

Even as Lucy watched, the drums began in her head, she ruthlessly shut them out.

"You were listening to the stars, again?"

"I'm sorry. I know how you warned me. But they were so loud-"

Lucy hushed his whispers with a wave of her hand.

"I do block them out, entirely, but I can't totally when studying Astronomy, so we were both exposed. The alignment."

Rasheph gazed out the window- "Gone now."

"But it was in a powerful position, one that could have easily manipulated two susceptible individuals, especially since we have been in each other's heads before."

"You're telling me the _stars_ manipulated my dream?"

"More like seized upon an opportunity, pushed it a little further. I told you they were trouble."

"But why?"

"I told you, they like to meddle. Something big must be brewing and they wanted to put us on our guard. It's hardly helpful to us, a lot of stuff involving Death Eaters is going on. But stars are not really detail oriented."

Rasheph sighed. "How do I keep this from happening again?"

"You have to stop listening to them, for awhile. We'll work on strengthening your ability to distinguish self from delusion, but the important thing is that you eventually did. You pulled yourself out of it and you took control."

"Why couldn't you stop it? You knew what was going on before I did."

"I could have, but you wouldn't have like the result."

"Why not?"

Lucy shrugged, "You'd be dead, or worse."

* * *

"**Dear Boris**

**They hadn't considered you suggestion, actually. I think they will pursue the idea, but skeptically and with great reluctance. I'm afraid they are prejudiced against you, but you shouldn't take it personally, Ravenclaws can't abide anyone being cleverer than themselves. Oh, they talk a good game about only being concerned with truth and knowledge, but deep down they are just as proud of their smarts as the Slytherins are of their bloodlines. They are currently trying to access records on metamorphagous regulation- although it seems most likely that this individual isn't registered.**

**They described what a metamorphagous is, by the way. Ick.**

**Grounds use was banned today- for our own protection. Apparently something is happening in the forest. It's impossible to get out of the castle to find out for ourselves. They have every entrance, legitimate or not, under guard. Anything beyond the outer wall is out, although they still allow groups to be escorted to the greenhouses for Herbology. What joy is mine.**

**It seems like madness to keep on pretending like nothing is wrong. The headmaster gone, McGonagall not seen for weeks, Harry Potter doing whatever it is he does God-knows-where- and it still seems to be of vital importance that I learn how to turn a teacup into a topiary. I can't, by the way, it looked more like a shrubbery.**

**The obituaries are attached. It looks like mostly innocent bystanders, although several civil servants are on the list, including the witch involved in coordinating the Diagon Ally sewar system, the wizard in charge of booking at the London Bureau of Magical Corrections, and the overseer of Magical Meats, a local butcher that specialized in the raising and slaughter of magical livestock.**

**As usual, no stories of vital import in the paper. Has their been any word on your end on the former Azkaban inmates? The young ones? If you could look up…."**

Lucy tossed Vasily a kipper and chewed on the end of her quill thoughtfully. She knew Rasheph would not approve, but she needed to know everything. And she couldn't ask the Ravenclaws for this….

* * *

"Marguerite, could you repeat that please?"

"They are going to use the orchestra to make contact."

Silence was a rare thing at a BA meeting. To be fair, the crowd was somewhat smaller, the frequency of the meetings- and the lack of any response from veelas or Viktor Krum-had resulted in most meetings being deemed optional for underclassmen.

It was a rather nasty surprise when Lucy was reminded this meant she was not exempt.

The Ravenclaws rejoiced, and she supposed it was probably fair. The little suckers had managed to put together a gruesome pop-up-book for this week on the progress in the bombing investigation, so it wasn't like they weren't putting in the hours. The Hufflepuffs were happy to leave it to Gisella and Lukas, and while most of the younger students had opted out, the Lane brothers always came and the Kornakovitches took it in turns.

The entire Slytherin contingent continued to show up, right down to tiny, terrifying, Sasha Yudin.

And still, none of the remaining students crammed into the Ravenclaw private library seemed capable of forming an intelligent response to Marguerite's statement.

"Are they going on tour?" William ran his hands through his hair.

Marguerite shook her head. "They can't leave their school."

"Marguerite, if there is one redundant piece of information being passed back and forth, it is that NONE of us can leave our schools. Either because of Durmstrang's draconian faculty, our mysterious forest plagues, or…come to think of it, why can't the Beuxbatons leave?"

Marguerite frowned. "Odette is always a little vague on the reason for that…"

"Of course she is. Then how is the orchestra-"

"She won't tell me that either. I probably wouldn't understand it anyway. It's apparently a very archaic technique, requiring someone with special skills, and the orchestra is the only way to keep them from being caught."

"Caught?"

Marguerite nodded. "That's what I needed to tell you, and why I wanted to meet right away, in here," she gestured to the Ravenclaw private library.

"What you have to say requires… dust?" Dmitri raised an eyebrow?

Sergei rolled his eyes. "You said _caught_- has the school been infiltrated- like Durmstrang?"

Marguerite shook her head. "I don't think so. I think the danger is more omnipresent. Odette has been trying to tell me in roundabout clues for months, but I wasn't catching on. It wasn't until I re-read every letter from the past eight weeks that I found the phrases she kept repeating, what she wanted me to know. They are being watched."

"Watched?"

"Spied on, monitored. She had to be careful because they can't let anyone know that _they_ know."

"And they can't get rid of the spy?"

"That would tip their hand. They think it might push whoever is watching into action."

Lucy pinched the bridge of her nose between her fingers. "And how are they being watched?"

Marguerite raised an eyebrow. " Through the looking glass."

Sergei's lips formed a silent "oh" The rest of the table looked at each other, bewildered.

Marguerite rolled her eyes in typical Ravenclaw exasperation "Honestly, don't you people _read_?"

Lucy glanced at the blank faces around the table. "Why don't you lead us all down the rabbit hole together, petite."

Marguerite sighed. "It's the mirrors. They are being watched through the mirrors."

"Which mirrors?" Katya's eyes narrowed.

"Witch mirrors!" Lucy groaned in disgust. "Nothing around here is safe!"

"All the mirrors, EVERY mirror. Beauxbatons is an old French palace, but the mirrors are older then that, they were the possessions of kings, emperors, sheiks, gathered by-"

"Clemence the Narcissist," Sergei nodded, "he collected them."

"He re-collected them," Katya corrected. "Those mirrors were all made from a batch of extremely quicksilver, dredged up by barrow dwarves in the mines of Magadan."

"The who?"

"The where?

"Did you say 'hobbits'?"

"Barrow Dwarves- slightly hairier versions of people who can see in the dark and smell metals. They are the only ones who could mine the stuff."

Much of the table stared at each other and blinked. Lucy had put her head down at the word "extremely quicksilver" and was muttering to herself about living in a Grimm's fricking fairy tale while the rest of the students- those who weren't Ravenclaws or hailing from far eastern Russia, shrugged.

"Never heard of them."

Marguerite sighed and handed Lucy a bound notebook before distributing smaller packets to the rest of the students. Lucy looked at her larger copy titled in the French girl's impeccable script. "The Magadan Mirrors~ An Illustrated History."

"I drew pictures just for you," she whispered, as Katya continued.

"She's right, the barrow dwarves lived in the far northeastern corners of Russia," Katya flipped to the map on the second page, pointing somewhere north of Korea, "where they were employed often by the wizarding community there. When Magadan was mined and the wizards refused to pay them their promised wands and sorcery skills, it set off the Seventeen Summers War. The villages and towns of the Barrow Dwarves were burnt to the ground, the remnant ran off into the mountains and interbred with humans."

Lucy looked at the picture of the small hairy people. "Is that where hobbits come from?"

The other students ignored her.

"And the wizards made their mirrors?"

"Never got the chance, the Barrow Dwarves poisoned their water supply. The Dynasty fell, along with several of their domesticated dragon breeds, and the metal remained hidden for centuries," Katya shrugged, tossing Marguerite's summary back on the table. "It is a well known part of Asian Magical History."

"And the mirrors?"

Marguerite flipped to page 7 and began by pointing to another map, indicating a spot somewhere to the east of Lithuania.

"The cache was eventually found, buried far to the west, when the Antonievo-Siysky monastery was built over the site; the metal was discovered when it came time to bury Saint Anthony. It was sold to King Henry of France in 1556, who commissioned mirrors to be made for his palaces. As it so happened, wizards in France at the time had the unhappy misfortune of sometimes being mistaken for Huguenots, so they tried to keep a low profile, and one such wizard found himself at lose ends as a silversmith, and was part of the mirror commission. It was he who recognized the extremely quicksilver for what it was. He knew how it needed to be handled, and his mirrors turned out the best. He gained the rest of the commission."

"And when Beauxbatons took the palace, they got the mirrors back?"

"Page 20 please."

Lucy looked, "Oh, never mind."

"They were never hung in his lifetime. While the King could find no fault or flaw, he always felt there was something off about them, they cast too clear a reflection, and he didn't like what he saw. Eventually they were given away as gifts, sold, presented to foreign dignitaries, and the wizard died, no doubt poisoned by prolonged exposure to raw extremely quicksilver."

"Fascinating, so how did Beauxbatons get them?"

"It had been the silversmith-wizard's original plan to use the mirrors to spy on and manipulate the king, ultimately paying him back for his persecution. But by the time one very determined descendent of the Barrow Dwarves- Constance- found the last mirror, the French Revolution had come and gone and there were no kings to spy on in France. Beauxbatons had set itself up in a newly forgotten palace of the monarchy, and Constance donated the mirrors to the school in defeat. But it had been so long since they had been created, no one knew how to work their powers, or if they had any at all. It was merely the amusing story of a raving old man who had provided the school with an excellent means of light, for its studios and halls, but little more."

Dimitri shook his head, "So…Beauxbatons is actually filled with..._magic mirrors_?"

Marguerite sighed. "Yes."

"But no one knew they were magic?"

"Not until about a year ago. It is also quite possible that no one outside the school knew about the mirror's potential until then either. But around that time information, information that could not have left the school, was leaked outside somehow. People's whereabouts were known, buildings were blown up, people were hurt… and then they figured it out. The entire school can be monitored constantly through the mirrors. They are not sure how, if it is one person or many, but it is not something they can turn off."

"What do they do?"

Marguerite shrugged, "From what I can guess, they fake it."

Lucy raised an eyebrow, "Fake it?"

Marguerite nodded. "There are very few places that are safe, places out of sight of a mirror, they are in the garden paths, in the halls, in the dorms, the classrooms, the bathrooms-"

"Ick," Saori and Setsuko said at the same time the Tsujimoto twins breathed, "Excellent."

Marguerite hid a giggle under a cough. "Actually, I don't think there are mirrors in the showers themselves, I think that is one of the few places they can talk." She kept right on speaking to ignore the Lane brothers clasping their hands to their hearts and falling out of their chairs. "The other time appears to be in music practice."

"Because no one can hear?"

"Exactly."

"And during orchestra practice, they are going to, what exactly?"

"Contact someone, someone who can help them. Odette couldn't say more, but she wanted us to know they may have a way to help."

"Help with what?"

Marguerite shrugged.

Dimitri rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Marguerite, does your contact tell you anything useful, or just history lessons and lists of the things she can't tell you?"

Marguerite wasn't ruffled. "It wasn't anything that would help us, or give us a better idea of the situation, she'll tell me when I need to know."

"Do you have any suspicions, from what she has said, any speculations?"

Marguerite chewed her bottom lip.

"Don't make me remind you which school you belong to Marguerite."

"Hey-" Sergei began.

"Out. Of. Line-" Lucy gave Dimitri a disappointed look.

"It's ok," Marguerite shrugged, "but you can't get anything out of Odette that she won't tell you, I doubt torture would rip it out of her. And keep in mind she is writing while always being observed. But she never says what it is they don't feel safe from. We feel unsafe from possible attacks, people disappearing, Lucy getting arrested for blowing people up, Death Eaters, Dementors coming back, that sort of thing. That is not what they are afraid of, not immediately anyway; but she won't tell me what the real threat to them is. And I have no idea how they get some of the information she is telling me- about the goings on in the city. She never says, either."

"Aw, you didn't tell her that people think I blew the train up, did you Marguerite?" Lucy gave her a pained look.

"No, she already knew."

"I still think it is violently unfair that I am the one that gets singled out for that, I was barely involved- I wasn't even smoking!"

Sergei patted her on the shoulder, "We will work it out, I promise."

The principle part of the earlier meeting had been about how there was an ongoing Ministry investigation primarily into Lucy and her part in the bombing of the train. Why Lucy was the target no one could understand. But an investigation, according to Warren Lane- their trusty alumnus, now a legal clerk in London, was ongoing, and part of it involved Lucy's alleged violation of the Muggle Saftey and Security Acts, as well as the Magical Secrecy Accord. Lucy didn't understand any of it. But it meant that the rest of the BA was in the clear, while it might be a very good idea for her to stay on school property for the coming Christmas vacation.

"Everything bad happens to me," she whined petulantly.

"Don't sulk love, no one's parents are going to risk letting them come home anyway." William patted her hand.

Wesley elbowed his brother, "I thought we were going to visit Himself over holidays? He promised firewhiskey, and loose women, and cards."

Gisella gasped.

William rolled his eyes. "He did not," he assured her, "Warren doesn't even play cards." He turned to his brother, "And mum and dad have never been that partial to us."

* * *

Everything looked normal in the rehearsal hall that afternoon. The cellists had been shifted to the east, and the violinists were perfectly in tune, and the violas has been angled 20 degrees. Michel checked the notes scribbled in the margins of his score. It was perfect.

He hoped. He watched Souleyman Gueye eyeing Aissata Robert's reflection in the floor to ceiling mirror as she bent down to pick up the bow for her double bass. Aissata was not facing the mirror, her comely face was not what Souleyman was appreciating, and Michel hit him on the head with a mallet.

"Hey!"

"Will you focus, please," Michel tapped the score.

Souleman's white teeth flashed bright against his ebony skin as he grinned. "Relax, mon frere, it's going to be perfect."

Michel ran a hand through his mousey brown hair, a nervous habit that kept it unkempt and contributed to his slightly eccentric reputation. "It has to be perfect," he lowered his voice until the oboes started to practice. "If that final tuning note isn't just right-"

Souleyman patted Michel in the knee. "The signal will get through. You just don't have any faith in the musicians because you are not gifted yourself," he nodded towards the instrument that gave Michel an excuse to be in rehearsal.

"You realize that if one note is off-"

"Yes, yes, disaster, death," Souleyman grinned from behind his gong. "You'd just find another way. It's what you do. In the meantime," he glanced back at the mirror and thanked Merlin that Aissata had once again dropped her bow, "it is important to feel alive my friend."

"Didn't she already blow you off?"

Souleyman didn't remove his gaze from the mirror. "Twice."

"Asking her again is only going to make her angry."

"It will make her furious."

"Then why-"

"She's beautiful when she's angry."

Michel merely raised an eyebrow.

Souleyman scoffed in disgust. "You call yourself a Frenchman? Your family has lived here for generations and yet you do not know love. The beauty, the sacrifice, the exquisite pain. Me, I am first in my family to be born here and I am more French than you."

Michel said nothing- the maestro had entered the room. He stepped to the podium, giving Michel an imperceptible nod, waited for silence, raised his baton, and gave the downbeat.

What followed was, to the outside observer, a completely average rehearsal of the 4th movement of Holst's "The Planets", devoted to Jupiter, the Bringer of Jollity. There were a few odd phrases, the time signature was not obeyed strictly, instruments seemed to drop into the background without warning, a few notes were wrong, and there was a bit with a triangle that clearly wasn't in the original score, but all in all, nothing unusual.

Which was, of course, exactly the point.

When it was over, Michel sighed, and placed his triangle back in the felt-covered table.

Souleyman watched Aissata set her double bass in the rack and saunter out of the room before he put his mallet on the table and he and Michel gathered their scores.

"It worked?"

Michel shrugged, "We'll find out soon enough."

As they moved into the busy, noisy hall that lead from the Conservatory back to the Academy, Souleyman grabbed Michel's score and stared at the notes in the margins, the areas where he had altered the piece, notes on which instruments should change, pitch irregularities, volume changes, it was nearly impossible to see the notes. This wasn't such a bad thing as it made it impossible to notice that there was not actually a triangle part for the 4th movement that merited its own musician. Michel had written it himself at the bottom of system 39.

"Don't know how you read this."

"Keep that out of sight," Michel grumbled, shoving the score under his Art History book.

"No one else would be able to read it either."

"That's not true. My father could- and my grandfather,and El- it's just better if we don't wave it around, all right? You have no idea how long it took me to transcribe the notes into the individual scores."

"How did you get away with altering the scores of the entire orchestra?"

"It's part of the maestro's assistant's duties. I was checking them to erase notes from the previous use before they were distributed."

"Clever fellow. Lucky for you that we have been short a triangle player for a few seasons now. Come to think of it, who was the percussionist before?"

"Eloise," Michel replied grimly.

"Oh," Souleyman shifted uncomfortably. "Any news there?"

Michel's deep blue eyes, normally quietly intense pools, suddenly darkened and hardened. "If by 'any news' you mean has she contacted me since she dropped off the face of the earth 18 months ago, then no. No news there."

Souleyman swallowed. Ellie was a touchy subject, one he would be wise not to bring up. But, as a passionate lover, wisdom was not something Souleyman made any attempt to cultivate.

"You act like it was her fault. She got expelled- magic outside of school or something."

"If she had been expelled, they would have taken her wand. It would have been publicly destroyed." Michel spat out in angry bursts. "And THAT would have been _something_. But there was _nothing_. She was there one day and gone the next. She just quit. Quit _everything_."

Souleyman let the subject drop. When Eloise Robert and a few other students had not returned for their sixth year the previous autumn, it took most of the school by surprise. There was some idle speculation that they were living in an attic in Montemarte, chasing the wild hare of being starving artists, and would be dragged back to school within weeks. But they had not. What was more, Eloise's boyfriend, Michel, had not seen her all summer, not since the end of the previous term. She had gone straight from school to her family, muggles living in a small village in the Pyrenees, and he had not received so much as an owl in the year and a half ever since.

Michel had always been quiet. He kept to himself in a mysterious manner, always tinkering with pieces of muggle gadgetry, and was, for a Beauxbatons student, not very talented artistically. Eloise, a fair musician with a passion for Muggle art, was the only one who seemed interested in his putterings and theories, and they would discuss mad things all day and half the night. Michel was convinced for the first few months after she disappeared that something terrible had happened. He had worried, he had grieved, he had mourned. There were rumors that the Dark Lord was arisen and Souleyman had received owls from Michel out of his mind with concern that Eloise had been harmed. Although why anyone would go to such lengths to murder the daughter of sheep farmers was beyond Souleyman's understanding.

And then, suddenly, something happened. Michel had never spoken about it, but sometime between Bastille Day and when they met again at school, something happened to turn Michel's near-paralyzing fear into pure anger. Where he once had been single-mindedly bent on getting word of her, he suddenly shrugged off other students' concerns about Eloise's whereabouts. He never said her name. If he had to refer to her, he called her Mademoiselle Robert.

Souleyman had his theories, and he tried to tease it out of Michel, badgering him about his lack of love life, his inability to appreciate the most popular French pastime. But if he was being honest, Souleyman would acknowledge that Michel was as good a Frenchman as any; and that being the case, it would have been far easier for him to handle avenging Eloise than to face the fact that she may, in fact, be living in a garret in Paris, happy, without him.

They had reached the Galleries, a maze-like set of hallways in the North Wing entirely covered in paintings. Their Art History class was currently working their way through the Late Renaissance Masters at the far end of the hall. The paintings had kindly rearranged themselves, the tags had been removed, and they needed to identify title, painter, and date for the 20 on the list before the end of class.

They were late, already a small crowd had gathered around Anne Lefebvre, who was flipping quickly through their textbook.

She glanced up, her eyes burning with excitement as Michel and Souleyman approached. She dropped the book and threw her arms around Michel's neck. "It worked! It worked!"

Michel blinked, "Already? They responded already?"

Anne nodded.

"Ninon- how?"

Anne beamed. "It was genius. Really. Like they had been waiting for this all along. It's all set."

Michel looked bemused. "What is?"

Anne grinned. "Our exile."

* * *

Anna Nikitin pointedly ignored the foot tapping hers beneath the desk, and continued to follow Professor Fedorov with what appeared to anyone else as rapt attention.

Professor Fedorov had turned up approximately three weeks earlier to replace Olga Yudin, a tenured professor with over 35 years of service to the school. Published in nearly every notable Arithmancy journal on the continent, multiple times, Professor Yudin had been the only faculty member remaining from the previous school year. She had disappeared abruptly, leaving not a trace, and been replaced without ceremony by the smarmy Fedorov, a man with little enthusiasm, and only veiled contempt for his current position, who had set them the seemingly impossible task of solving the Zarkozy Theorem.

Each class began with a 20 minute lecture on the necessity of their work, of the need to solve the theorem to create the great Purifying Force, to purge magic of its impurities and stabilize the cosmos.

The indoctrination was not going well, as far as Anna could see. She had mastered the permutation they had been assigned for homework, but knew full well that it violated at least 3 of the assumptions of the theorem. She at least pretended to pay attention, most of the students' eyes were glazed over, but fixed in the appropriate direction. Any open behavior that hinted of rebellion or indifference would earn Potions dentention, and possible lifelong disfigurement. The students knew by now how to do as little as possible without appearing to do as little as possible.

Anna, being herself a muggle born and therefore part of the impurities to be purged, had no trouble letting the rhetoric flow in one ear and out the other. In her head she was composing a letter to Odette at Beauxbatons. The tone of Odette's last letter was much more optimistic, although twice as cryptic. She hadn't thought it possible, but it appeared that the French academy was even more paranoid than Durmstrangs. But the French students seemed hopeful, they had an out, which was more than could be said for Anna, or any of her fellow students.

The hard freeze was approaching. They couldn't afford to wait any longer.

She ignored the second, not quite so gentle kick at her shins. Honestly, Golernyshevs had about as much subtlety as a sack full of bludgers.

Ten minutes later, when Fedorov had finished his speech outlining the need to eradicate impurity, and set the students to solving another component of the Theorem while he sipped vodka from an ill-concealed flask, Anna carefully floated a piece of parchment under Boris's quill. Just because she knew it would irritate Constantine to no end.

Boris made no visible reaction other than an arch of his eyebrows, and passed the parchment on to Stiva, before it passed to Kostya.

The message was simple. _We need help, now. Contact Hogwarts tonight._

* * *

Even as November wore on and the days grew cold and damp, Sparks didn't set a feather inside the castle. Lucy left her window open, but after narrowly escaping beheading at 5AM by a fanged Frisbee halfway through "Here Comes the Sun", he learned to keep a safe distance. And Lucy made a mental note not to wake Lavender, ever. Exactly how Sparks spent his days was a mystery, although he would occasionally stalk Lucy from window to window down the hall, resulting in dozens of students all believing they had the same song stuck in their head. This was most disconcerting for the purebloods, as Sparks seemed to play to Lucy's preferences and had been spouting muggle music ever since her return.

Lucy didn't mind the music, but was a little unnerved at how easily the bird seemed to read her moods. She'd _tried_ to hear Spark's thoughts, but the thought patterns of a phoenix were either too simple or far too complex for her to make out- never a strong communicator with animals, her ability to communicate basic concepts to other species was mostly limited to primates. Sparks, on the other hand, she was certain, could read her moods, if not her thoughts. His song choices were far too accurate to be coincidentally appropriate.

It was also difficult to tell when Sparks was singing for his own pleasure and when he was responding to the moods of his "mother." For a few days Lucy made it a point of trying to sneak up on where he was resting and listen in- but Sparks was hard to sneak up on. "Private" mode had lately been Frank Sinatra music, but when he wasn't actively singing to her the sound was always softer, so it was much harder to tell if she was really hearing the bird or if she _really did_ have an old song in her head. She could always tell the moment Sparks sensed _her_, however, as his "happy to see Lucy" song had consistently been "My Girl" by the Temptations- his head would turn her way and the chorus would start whenever she got too close. She supposed it could have been worse, his song for Snape was "The Devil in Disguise." Fortunately for Lucy, the dungeons were windowless, or else she was liable to start laughing in the middle of class. It was hard to imagine someone who looked less "like an angel."

"What's his song for me?" Lynx asked eagerly, anxious to avoid the predictably boring task Lucy had assigned him to work on his control one windy November afternoon.

Lucy shrugged, "You would know, do you hear any particular song when he's around?"

Lynx shook his head. "I wouldn't know any of their names, they're all muggle cra-" he caught himself, "errr, muggle music."

Lucy paused, "Well, hum it."

As Lynx frowned in concentration while painstakingly humming what he was hearing, Lucy began to snort.

"What? What is it?"

"It's called 'Ring of Fire', it's a good song actually, and startlingly appropriate, as usual." She smiled.

"It's kind of creepy."

"No, what's creepy is when the music isn't in response to my mood, and it isn't Sparks singing for himself, it's definitely an expression of his opinion on what _I'm_ thinking. I don't know how much I like him being that close to my thoughts."

"Like how?"

"Well, like yesterday, we were meeting about what Marguerite and I had learned from our penpals right? And the Ravenclaws, as always, feel the need to vote on every detail, however trivial. And they found out that I had been exchanging multiple letters per week with my penpal- and Gisella said something like we all needed to discuss this. And what I was imagining was transfiguring her into a duck. You know what song came into my head?"

"Lucy, you couldn't transfigure a mallard into a loon, let alone a Hufflepuff into-."

"Do you want to hear this or do you want to start sorting those matchsticks again?"

"Fine! I give up, what did he say?" Lynx grumbled, "not that I'd have any idea what the song sounded like anyway, primitive Muggle-"

Lucy chose not to hear the rest of Lynx's diatribe, and went on.

"The title is called "Fools Rush In."

Lynx snorted- "Ok, that's pretty good."

"But it gets better- she keeps going on, how if I am going to be sending multiple letters we all need to be discussing things more frequently- we meet all the time as it is! And she just wasn't listening, to me or Marguerite, and then the song changed."

"To what?"

"One called "Hard Headed Woman"".

"He's good."

"They are also all by the same artist, so maybe he thinks in themes, I'm not sure."

"You're writing this penpal multiple times per week?"

Lucy looked up, from the letter she was writing to Boris at that moment- "That tower isn't' balanced, you need to focus."

"If I can focus and carry on a conversation at the same time, I'll be better- don't avoid the question."

"I'm not, but if you don't focus at all there won't be anything to build upon. Check your centering, focus on that. And yes, I'm writing Boris two or three times a week."

"Is there really that much to report?"

"Maybe not here, but I think he needs someone to talk to- things are a lot more tense where he is than here."

"Where is he exactly, you never did say?"

"Neither does he. Somewhere cold, judging by how many first years got pneumonia taking the annual swim test."

"Swim test? Why on earth would you have to take a swim test?"

"I assume it is to avoid certain death during remedial swim lessons. You are technically supposed to take it before you get to school, but there was a scheduling problem or something. Anyway, that's nothing compared to how many have frostbite on a regular basis."

"From what?"

"Cross country."

"You've got to be kidding me."

"Physical education is still VERY big in the old world schools. There's an obstacle course and everything."

"Sounds like military school."

"I don't think you're far off."

"So, what's Beauxbatons like?"

Lucy shrugged, "I've never been. Don't let your grounding slip, I'll be able to shove that shield aside and topple the whole thing."

"You wouldn't be so cruel."

"If it meant keeping your half-grown eyebrows in place a little longer, of course I would."

"I'm not that bad Lucy, you're over reacting."

"Better safe than sorry."

"Fine, fine, look now, better, right?"

Lucy unfocused her eyes and examined the connection with the Sight- Lynx was grounded, the energy from the shield glowing a pale blue that connected to Lynx and pooled down into the earth beneath the castle.

"Perfect."

"So tell me about the Frenchies- you do write to them, don't you?"

Lucy had a thought, and raised her eyebrows. "Tell me you aren't spreading this around?"

"What do I look like, an idiot?"

Lucy's eyebrows remained raised.

"Don't answer that. No, I didn't tell anyone, Mother. It seems logical, that's all."

"Well I don't write to them, someone else does. The place sounds very different."

"Because it is entirely populated by lovely blond half-Veela witches who walk around in tight skirts and play Quidditch naked?"

"What!"

"If it isn't, don't spoil my fantasy."

"It is co-ed, they are fully clothed, and while there is a Quidditch team the whole school seems pretty focused on the Arts."

"Damn it Lucy, do you enjoy crushing people's dreams?"

"I relish it, where did you get that idea from anyway?"

"The delegation they sent for the tournament- they were gorgeous."

"They were all girls, I take it?"

"Yeah, come to think of it, why weren't there any lads?"

"I imagine they were trying to play with your heads."

"Well, God bless them for it."

Lucy rolled her eyes. Boys, honestly.

After another twenty minutes, Lynx pleaded a cramped psyche and Lucy released him to the relative ease and comfort of sitting astride a broom for hours gleefully bashing his fellow students in the head with a heavy ball.

She was sweeping the chard playing cards into the hearth when Rasheph entered the workroom.

He chuckled and headed for the bookshelves. "Lynx lose concentration again?"

Lucy sighed. "At least he didn't combust himself. It was a small spark. Apparently someone swapped my playing cards for exploding snap. It only took a touch to set the whole thing off in spectacular fashion."

Rasheph sighed. "We ought to think about fire-proofing this place. Old furniture like this, whole room could go up like a Roman candle."

"I think if the floorboards were flammable Sparks would have set them off long ago."

"Thank Merlin for small favors. I'm off for the Astronomy Tower after dinner, you coming?"

"Can't."

"It's perfectly safe- I've had two cups of coffee and a bottle of "All Awake." I'm jittery as hell, but I won't fall asleep." He gave her a sheepish grin.

Luc chuckled, glad that Rasheph felt comfortable enough to laugh about Halloween. "I wasn't worried. I reserved a spot in the faculty tower. My formation should rise low in the west, it has a better view."

"And here I was counting on you to keep me entertained."

"I think the nasty gale blowing outside will do that for you. Tie yourself off to something."

"It doesn't sound that bad. Enough to make Quidditch practice for Lynx a bit interesting."

"Fortunately he has no problem focusing when the aim is to maim his classmates."

"Maybe you can work that motivation into his training."

"Not unless you're volunteering."

"Well, there's Bet."

Bet sailed in the door on cue. "There's me for what?"

Rasheph blushed. "Nevermind."

Bet found her star charts on the table. "You headed up to the Astronomy Tower after dinner?"

Lucy sighed, "I miss all the fun. You two enjoy the late night party, I'll be up in the faculty tower."

Bet patted her on the shoulder. "Tie yourself off to something. And keep an eye out for Hubert Gorniak- his telescope tends to wander."

"Wander where?"

"Towards the Ravenclaw girl's dormitory windows. Although from the faculty tower he might have a better view of Gryffindor Tower."

"Great. I'm spending the night with a pervert."

Bet rolled her eyes toward Rasheph. "Could be worse."

"Hey, I heard that."

* * *

It was freezing. Cold winds that hinted of December slashed through Lucy's sweater and heavy cloak. She dutifully noted the movements of relevant formations and the time to complete each, in anticipation of the rise of her constellation.

She spared a glance to her left, observed Hubert's telescope was NOT focused on the Less Antillian Ring system, and corrected it for him. Hubert jerked his head away from the eyepiece.

"You're welcome." Lucy turned back to her notes. She had made the same observations every week for months, so the procedure became routine. What wasn't routine was the shadow repeatedly crossing her field of vision. The fact that it was nighttime made the shadow all the more curious.

She refocused the telescope. Was it an owl?

It was moving too fast to be an owl, and it was too small.

"Gotcha," she breathed as she finally struck upon the proper magnification.

_Shit._

"Go away, not now," she muttered under her breath.

But it was too late. Vasily was already descending, not in his normal lazy loops, but in a direct beeline. A flight path that took him dangerously close to Hubert's head.

Lucy learned three things in that moment. Mongolian bats can turn on a dime, the Ravenclaw girls needed to be more careful about drawing their curtains, and Hubert Gorniak screamed like a seven year old girl.

"It's in my hair, it's in my hair!" He cried, knocking his telescope to the ground and frantically tearing his hands through his dirty blond curls.

"It's gone, Gorniak," Lucy lied, as Vasily was snuggled safely in the hood of her sweatshirt.

"I can feel it!" He stumbled to his feet and tore down the stairs. From the sound of it, he tripped three times on the way.

Lucy sighed, placed his telescope, with its broken mirror, on the third step from the top of the stairs, and locked the door. Then she removed Vasily.

"Well, what have we here?" She examined a small package, no longer than her thumb, that had been elaborately tied to strings hanging from each foot. Once free, Vasily did not take off for a snack, as he often did, but remained, hanging upside down from her telescope stand, swaying in the wind, and staring at her.

"That's a little unnerving."

The bat appeared to shrug, although it could have been the wind. Lucy wasn't sure if her piddling amount of animal mind magic extended to bats- magical beasts were an entirely different class of organisms, and she sure as hell had no luck with flobberworms,

Unwrapping the package, she found a lighter, and the customary tiny scroll. But instead of the musical key, there was simply scrawled, "Use immediately."

She examined the lighter, which looked ordinary enough, it was a little beat up, silver, Zippo style, with a pair of initials engraved on one side, "B.K."

"Boris sent me a lighter? Doesn't he know I don't smoke?"

She flicked the lid open, and gave the lighter a quick flick.

The flame that appeared was not the little burst she was expecting, it was six inches high and nearly took her eyebrows off.

And it was green.

Lucy ground her teeth. "Nothing, absolutely _nothing_ in this entire place is normal."

She looked at Vasily, who was still staring at her. "Well, I used it? Was this some sort of practical joke? Have they finally gone round the bend out there and decided to amuse themselves by setting their pen pals _on fire_?"

Vasily continued to stare at her, and Lucy got the distinct impression he was annoyed with her.

"Fine, you win, I'll try it again."

Leaning back a bit this time, she gave the lighter another try, holding it down a bit longer this time.

Which was when she heard the voice.

"Is this thing on?"

"What!"

Her thumb nearly released the button when a different voice, slightly deeper, and slightly amused, calmly said, "Combustus perpetuas."

The flame seemed to leap a little higher.

The same voice came again. "You can let go of the button Lucy."

He needn't have said anything. At the sound of her own name, Lucy yelped and dropped the lighter.

She heard a sigh. "Have a care with it, it's the only lighter I have."

"See, this is why I didn't want to let you use mine." Came a smug, self-satisfied voice.

"We are using yours."

"I mean why we weren't sending mine to _her._ You're lucky she didn't drop it off the roof."

"How did you know I'm on the roof?" Lucy cautiously bent down, keeping a safe distance away.

"I'm paying attention. Although now all I seem to be paying attention to are your sneakers, do you mind picking it up?"

"It's on fire."

"What kind of a witch are you?" Came the second voice.

"Stiva, you promised you'd be nice," the deeper voice chided.

"I'm very nice, people like me."

"Well, I don't think your humor translates well without a visual. Lucy," the patient voice came again, "it's a communication fire, it's actually cold to the touch. If you hold the lighter up you should be able to see us through the flame."

Lucy picked up the lighter. The flames reflected well against the chrome exterior, which seemed to magnify the flickering image of a pair of eyes, one covered by a mop of curly hair, the other unobstructed, underneath dark eyebrows and a close crop of darker hair. Absolute color was impossible to make out, as everything was in shades of green

The pair of eyes on the left crinkled, "See, I'm nice!" The pair to the right rolled a bit, then focused on Lucy and warmed. "It's good to meet you face to face at last."

Something in his eyes made Lucy relax and feel safe. "Boris? Is that you?"

"You were expecting someone else? How many other men are you corresponding with?" The pair of eyes next to Boris glinted mischievously.

Boris sighed, "I apologize for that. You understand now why Stiva was not chosen as a correspondent. Stiva, meet Lucy Montero. Lucy, this is Stephen Oblonsky, our Sergeant at Arms."

"Charmed," Lucy said.

"There is a limited amount of enchanted fluid in that thing, so we need to keep this short. Lucy, the Rear Guard needs to ask a very, very big favor…"

* * *

"Absolutely not."

"But-"

"It's suicide."

"Maybe not."

"I've seen you in PE."

"They said there would be a seatbelt."

Dimitri chuckled. A seat belt was the wizarding equivalent of training wheels and a car seat combined.

Gisella sighed, "Can anyone think of a better idea?"

"Nothing?"

"We can't do nothing."

"But why Lucy?"

"Because this is one of the few things that I _can_ do."

"This is like that hocus pocus you did two years ago?"

"A bit, yes."

"How do they know about that?" Wesley threw his hands in the air. "How do they know about you? _We_ didn't even know about this!"

"I asked them that myself."

"And?"

"They said they couldn't reveal their source."

"Oh for the love of Merlin-"

"It could be a trap." Nicholas pointed out.

Svetlana rolled her eyes. "Right, because a group of nearly powerless students, cut off from the rest of the world, risking unspeakable horrors if their plans are discovered are willing to risk all that to lure someone who is possibly the least competent- no offense Lucy-"

"None taken"

"-witch in the seventh year to their stronghold in order to – what exactly?"

"Well, who knows?" Nicholas glared at his sister. "Who knows why they are framing Lucy for bombing the express, which, by the way, it is pretty clear someone was trying to do."

"Now you think the Durmstrang students were behind the bombing of the Hogwarts Express?"

Nicholas sputtered a bit. "No- but- well, don't you think that on a mission of this sensitivity, sending the one student who seems to have catastrophe tattooed across her forehead is an unwise strategy?"

Wesley, who had been content to let his housemate rant, nodded his head. "He has a point. Evil plot or no, Lucy, you aren't exactly the luckiest person in the world."

Katya raised an eyebrow, "You're saying that she shouldn't go because she's _jinxed_?"

"Hey, I'm not jinxed!"

"School burned down." Mikhail shrugged.

"Arrested," Chandrika added.

"Fire in London while at hearing _after_ being arrested," Saori put in, with an apologetic shrug.

"Train car bombed," Marguerite, who to Lucy's horrer, seemed to be making a list, hastily scribbled down Lorenzo's obervation.

"Other than Espiritu being burned- and I wasn't there for that I might add, I wasn't alone at any of the other things either!"

"I'm just saying that isn't this tempting fate?"

"No one is asking you to go, Lane."

"Someone should," Katya said pointedly.

"But I don't speak Russian," Wesley, looking alarmed, shrunk down in his chair.

"No- I mean _someone_ should go with Lucy. If she's willing to do her part, someone should go with her."

"I'll go," Sergei shrugged. "I've used that equipment before. I'll make sure her seat belt is nice and tight."

Dimitri shook his head. "Be that as it may- there is a larger question before us. The primary request. What makes you think we can do this?"

MIkhail coughed discretely.

Dimitri raised his eyebrows- "Well, speak up."

"Well, first of all, the rest of our house members are in agreement about helping, it was unanimous. But, er, some of the younger students had a suggestion on altering the plan."

"If this is about apparating you can forget-" Lucy was cut off by a discrete elbow from Marguerite.

"No, not that part of the plan. Sergei will get you there in one piece- we meant the greater plan, the ultimate solution for Durmstrang."

"It's none of our business."

"Well maybe it should be." Marguerite snapped.

Lucy looked at her in surprise. "Since you clearly have strong feelings about it why don't you explain there Slugger."

"We can help them."

"We are, that's what the whole discussion about the seat belt was dealing with, keep up Ducasse"

"No, WE can help them. With more than just transportation. With extended, long term…help."

She looked at Mikhail for help.

Mikhail sighed. "We took the liberty of drawing up some rough plans and estimates." He turned to Marguerite. "Ducasse, slide 13 if you please."

The students studied the wall.

"Where is-"

"_How_ did you-"

"When-"

"Where-"

"Is that a-"

There were several seconds of stunned silence.

"I'm not saying we won't have our work cut out for us. But it's very possible."

"And it's the right thing to do."

Dimitri looked at Gisella, who looked at Sergei, who looked at Lucy. They nodded.

"Ok.," Dimitri ran his hand through his hair. "Chyort, OK. In, and I can't stress this enough, in as _vague_ of terms as you can manage, communicate this option to the rest of the Society members in your house. If everyone is in- and they all have to be in- Lucy you and Sergei will discuss it with Boris and his people."

He then turned to Mikhail- "Seriously though- how-"

"House secret. I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you."

Katya huffed, "That's supposed to be our line."

Lucy, meanwhile, was ignoring the slide and pestering Sergei- "Describe the seat belt again."

* * *

Their departure coincided with a meteor shower in the upper atmosphere. The sky was so filled with streaks of fire and light, no one noticed the two flaming streaks that plummeted towards the earth, only to stop several feet above the roof of the faculty Astronomy tower, their tips homed in on the lighter Lucy clutched in her white knuckled grip.

"They are on fire."

"Just the ends, they're supposed to be that way."

"And they're huge. I'm not an idiot, I've seen Quidditch, those are _not_ like the Quidditch team's."

Sergei rolled his eyes as he pulled a watch cap over Lucy's hair before securing her helmet.

"Oh yeah, right, like when I plummet to my death, _this_ is going to be of much use,"

"Lucy, these are _Sonic Streakers_. There are only a few dozen in the world." He was not bothering to hide his excitement and continued, despite the fact that Lucy could care less about the broom history. "Mostly because only really crazy people decide to travel long distances by broomstick anymore- but they are very safe. And look-"

He pointed to a contraption flapping off the side of the broom that reminded Lucy of the waist belt on her hiking backpack. "You have a seat belt."

Dimitri snickered,

"Shut it," Sergei sighed, "We've been over this Montero, the broom is preprogrammed, all you have to do is stay on."

"Right, because if I don't, I die."

"You won't-"

"We are flying high enough that you and Vladimir were discussing some sort of _oxygen_ spell. I hear things, you know. I don't want it. That way, maybe I'll black out before I go splat."

Sergei shrugged. "Complain all you like- we don't have time to do it your way."

"My way has us gating almost the whole way."

"Yes, and then flying _against_ the prevailing wind, over the ocean, without a landmark. No thank you. The gyres are going to push us most of the way, it will be over before you know it. Now into the harness."

Lucy stepped into a standard climbing harness, then watched with obvious suspicion as Sergei clipped her into three different leads on the broom, and then onto a long rope attached to his own belt.

"Mount up," Dimitri glanced at his watch and swiftly and unceremoniously boosted Lucy onto her broom.

She got her feat in the stirrups and then, oddly, leaned forward until she was stretched out along the broom, a leather saddle supporting her torso more comfortably than just a wooden rod ever could. Katya bent her elbow and strapped her hand to the broom near her shoulder, and placed her left hand forward before releasing a wide strap from the saddle and strapping her tightly to the broom at the waist.

"You can release this on your left side, here, you feel?"

Lucy nodded, "But why would I want to?"

Katya snickered and placed a pair of flight goggles on her head. "I want these back. They're charmed against snow and rain, but keep your head down if it hails, they are new."

Lucy's eyes as she turned her head toward Sergei were terrified and furious.

"Kick off on three, and the brooms will take over. One, two-"

"If the nav goes out," Dimitri added "don't forget to turn left when you feel gyre shift or you won't hit land until Svalbard."

"What!" Lucy shrieked.

"Three!' shouted Sergei.

Lucy kicked with all her might, then squeezed her eyes shut as the brooms shot into the sky to be lost amongst the meteors.

* * *

The next seven hours were a dark period in Lucy's life which she hoped fervently never to think of again and even more fervently never to repeat. Flying a broomstick at 15000 feet required oxygen enrichment spells, which Sergei dutifully employed, to the point of slightly over-increasing Lucy's oxygen content to make her a little more relaxed.

Of course, not all the heat spells in the world could keep the cold at bay. Clouds were damp and the wind cutting, while the heat from the continuously burning end of the broom and Sergei's charms kept them from actually freezing, Lucy was still cold and miserable. Although, since Sergei was being all Russian and stoic, she had no choice but to suffer in silence.

She remained immobile, her left arm fully extended, grasping the handle, her right arm at her shoulder, strapped to the broom at the wrist, her head in the face cradle, partially frozen and partially asleep for much of the trip.

Sergei was cold, but quite enjoying himself. Besides satisfying his hard-wired male need for speed, he was fascinated with the stars at this altitude, and, in typical Ravenclaw fashion, was making mental notes about interesting systems and clusters. He flew in parallel with Lucy, usually no more than 2 meters ahead or above her, moving in closer occasionally to check on her, delighted with the responsiveness of the brooms. He had learned not to wake Lucy. The one time he had reached out to tap her shoulder, she had come awake with a start, death grip on the broom, screaming frantically for him to 'keep both hands on the wheel for God's sake, didn't he know how far away the ground was!'

They hit Karal Sea, the brooms turned north out of the jet stream, and the flying became suddenly rougher. Lucy was instantly fully awake, and Sergei was checking the instruments mounted to his broom.

"It's OK Lucy."

"Like hell it is."

Sergei chuckled. "Not far now- maybe an hour."

Lucy tried to imagine she was somewhere else until she was interrupted some time later.

"Um Lucy, I should tell you something."

"What?"

"The landing is going to be a little tricky."

"How tricky?"

"Well, it says here a dive."

"A WHAT!"

"A dive."

"From how high?"

"It'll be fine- like riding a roller coaster."

"Sergei, how high?"

"600 meters."

"What!"

"It's to avoid detection. We'll be fine, the brooms will handle it."

"I'm not worried about the _brooms._ The brooms can't die- or throw up."

"Well-"

"Knock me out. Just knock me out, please."

"You'll fall off."

"I'm wearing the seat belt, remember?"

"You have less likelihood of being injured if you aren't falling limply strapped to the broom."

"_Less!"_

"I'm sorry Lucy, but you are just going to have to endure it. It won't take long. But…"

"Oh god, what now?"

"You can't scream."

Lucy wasn't sure if her look of pure befuddlement translated through the inky darkness.

"They are trying to bring us in undetected. The brooms will be running silently when we start the drop. But any loud noise could land everyone in a great deal of trouble. So, can you stay quiet, or would you like me to temporarily charm your vocal chords?"

He had said it as politely, and with sincere regret. But it still amounted to the kind of situation no girl with a big brother could walk away from.

She gritted her teeth. "I'll be fine."

Sergei nodded. They flew silently for another 15 minutes before he warned her, "Five minutes. Remember, don't hold your breath, keep exhaling, move your jaw, and swallow. It will help with the pressure change in your ears."

Lucy had her broom in a death grip, and was trying to figure out how she was going to swallow and move her mandible with all her attention focused on keeping her jaws locked together to prevent her death scream from escaping.

Sergei gave her one encouraging look back before the brooms pitched forward ninety degrees, and they fell out of the sky.

* * *

"Incoming," Stiva's voice was tense as his telescope latched on to two of the many objects falling out of the sky. It was a brief streak, at 600m the brooms' tails extinguished and all visual contact with their visitors was lost.

"Were they on target?"

"Of course."

"Both of them?"

"Yes…" Stiva raised an eyebrow at Boris, who had turned the heat up inside the observation tent to tropical levels and was rapidly placing scorching heat spells on several cloaks, blankets, and hats.

"She's never flown before. Never stayed in a saddle for more than a few minutes."

"You sound like my mother. We sent her a seat belt, and a helmet- thought what good that would actually do I have no idea- she's fine." Stiva pulled on his cloak and smashed his fur cap on his head, letting the earflaps dance comically around his chin.

"They'll be on the ground in 30 seconds. Let's go."

The boys emerged from the observation tent, which, once the flap was resealed, was virtually unnoticeable from the outside, a fact which made it easier for students not to disturb each other's astronomy observations- and other activities.

They scanned the pitch black, 10 AM sky. The Stealths were designed to move at a speed that made them near impossible to see, the devil to catch, and completely silent. "Like flying on a snitch," his cousin had told him. Few could afford them, and the day after the Romanov-Oblansky clan had gone into hiding, the brooms had arrived outside Stiva's dorm window. The last two his cousin had ever made.

This also meant that the two boys standing on the roof, staring at the sky, had absolutely no idea where their visitors were.

Until…

"Do you hear that?" Boris asked.

"No."

"_Madam Butterfly._"

"I don't- is that humming?"

Barely audible, and becoming clearer were the faint and quivering notes of the Humming Chorus. As the tune began to emerge, the brooms dropped out of the sky, and came to a halt fifty feet away across the vast, snow covered roof.

As they hurried over, Boris observed a tall figure leap stiffly but competently from the broom and hurry over to the second rider. But even after the straps were released, the second rider would not let go of the broom, and their hands had to be literally pried away. They came loose in a flurry of motion, after which the second rider toppled to the side and landed curled up in the snow.

"Sergei," came a soft plea, "Can I pass out now?"

"Boris Kasmierez."

"Sergei Petrov."

To his credit, Sergei took off his glove and shook Boris's hand with his own, half frozen fingers.

"And this," Stiva had moved behind Sergei to deftly scoop an unconscious Lucy out of the snow, "must be Lucy."

"I can get-" Sergei reached for her.

"Forget it man, you're dead on you feet. I've got her, and we're not going far. Good god, she's short. Boris you didn't tell me the Mexican was a midget."

Boris rolled his eyes. "This is Stephen Oblonsky."

Stiva waved awkwardly with the hand that was hooked under Lucy's legs. "Hullo. Welcome to Durmstrang. Isn't it a lovely morning?"

"What time is it, exactly?" Sergei followed Boris across the roof and watched, impressed, as he charmed open what had appeared to be a patch of clear sky over a small trampled spot of snow.

"In, in, you're letting the heat out."

"And he's been fussing over the temperature for 20 minutes." Stiva ducked his head, laid Lucy down on a blanket, and unceremoniously rolled her up in it.

"Hey-"

"Fastest way to revive her. Oh, by the way, here." He pulled from his back pocket what looked like a pair of thin ugly oven mitts shaped like duck bills.

Sergei raised an eyebrow.

Stiva stared back, confused. "They go on your hands."

Sergei sighed, and placed the mittens on Sergei's numb hands.

The sensation was akin to the biggest static shock he had ever received in his life. He yelped, hit his head on the top of the tent, and shook the mittens to the floor.

Stiva clucked, deftly scooped them up and shook his head. "They are never appreciated."

"Why-

"Wiggle your fingers."

Sergei did as he was bid- and found he had perfect sensation in all of them.

"Trust me, it's way better than an hour of pins and needles."

From deep within the blanket there came a sound of weakly muffled outrage.

Stiva chuckled, "I think that means it's time to turn her over?"

The rolled blanket began to wiggle, and with a quick tug from Boris, a flushed and disheveled Lucy rolled out onto the floor of the tent.

"Welcome to Durmstrang Lucy," Stiva grinned.

"Hi Stiva," Lucy, sweaty from the smothering heat of the carpet, gave Sergei a triumphant smile.

"I didn't scream."

"Nice humming." Sergei handed her a pair of oven mitts. "Use these, don't ask."

Lucy gave him a guilty look as she pulled them on. "Sorry about your shoes….OW Geez!"

Sergei grinned, "Now we're even."

Boris handed the pair of them a set of Durmstrang uniforms. "If you can pull these one, we can get you in out of the cold as soon as possible."

Sergei pulled his coat off, "What cold?" at the same time Lucy stared at her shoes "I can't feel my toes."

Boris leaned over to examine her feet- "That's because your sneakers are coated in ice."

"Well that explains it. Did we bring a chisel?"

Boris chuckled, cradled Lucy's ankle in one hand, and with the other swiftly pulled off her ice-coated sneaker, which fell to the floor with a heavy thud.

Sergei groaned, "Converse? You were supposed to wear boots."

"I don't have boots."

"No, what you have is frostbite."

"I think my toe was naturally that pale."

"This is Katya' fault, she was supposed to check you."

"I'm not an infant."

"You're right, an infant would be properly dressed for the cold."

Boris pushed clothes into Sergei's arms. "If you change, you will both be dressed for the cold. Go use Stiva's tent. Stiva?"

Lucy raised an eyebrow. "If you want me to change, maybe you better step out."

"Give me your feet."

"Not much on the pleasantries, are you?"

Boris sighed. "Don't be difficult."

"What makes you think I'd be difficult?"

He didn't look to answer as he assembled several suspicious pots, towels, and a pair of larger, stocking shaped oven mitts."Your letter of October the 6th."

"Which one was that?"

Boris gave her a significant look. "London."

"Oh, right."

Boris sighed. "You flew across the arctic circle in a pair of flimsy fabric sneakers at an altitude of 15000 feet, you'll be lucky to keep any toes at all. But if I fix your feet now, there is a good chance you keep maybe half."

Lucy sighed and pulled off her sock.


	7. Chapter 7: Where the Sidewalk Ends

Chapter Seven: Where the sidewalk ends

_Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black_

_And the dark street winds and bends._

_Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow_

_We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow,_

_And watch where the chalk-white arrows go_

_To the place where the sidewalk ends._

_Yes we'll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,_

_And we'll go where the chalk-white arrows go,_

_For the children, they mark, and the children, they know_

_The place where the sidewalk ends._

Shel Silverstein

None of the Hogwarts students Lucy had questioned could point out Durmstrang on a map. She understood why. The place was in the middle of nowhere.

It was an island. A fortress in every sense of the word. Sergei thought the architecture was inspired, and Lucy thought it was creepy- noting that the very qualities that made it a working fortress could also lead to it being turned into a prison. Could…well, already head to own the whole truth. It was why they were there in the first place. Sergei said it didn't take away from the fact that is was a damn effective design. Ravenclaws could be really sick.

The Durmstrang Institute for Magical Learning reminded Lucy of the Pentagon. It's sheer walls rose three floors straight up with military precision. No columns, no turrets, no embellishments adorned the flawless stone of the eight faces of the outer wall, and the roof was completely flat, no sloping eaves, so that the wind ripped straight across. It was a building divided in to eight quadrangle-shaped sections, with an octagonal courtyard in the middle, from above the building resembled an eight-sided donut with a very narrow eight sided hole. Each section was connected to the others through narrow stone walkways that met in the center of the courtyard, coming together to resemble a large spoke.

Sergei, having kept his eyes open throughout the ride down. was able to make out at least 4 outbuildings, a Quidditch pitch, and a boat moored to a dock on the western shore. Unlike Hogwarts or Beauxbatons, there was no gate or wall surrounding the school- just a vast and empty sea of frozen waves.

Sergei returned to Boris's tent quickly- feeling uneasy leaving Lucy alone with their hosts. Lucy was dressed, as they all were, in black trousers and a crimson sweater with a black yoke and elbow patches. Since she was no longer shivering, he assumed she had also been given a set of soft thermals to wear underneath, as he had.

Her shoes lay, still icy, in the corner, and Lucy sat on a trunk with Boris at her feet, alternating dipping them in a basin and poking them with his wand.

"What happened?"

Lucy grimaced a bit as Boris tapped her big toe, but shot Sergei a victorious grin. "Eight and a half. I win."

Sergei looked at Boris. "Eight and a half what?" Boris shook his head and poked another toe with his wand.

"Ow- that one's still good! Nine and a half."

The gruesome tally finally registered and Sergei raised an eyebrow. "_Toes_?"

Lucy was drying off her left foot and pulling on a heavy wool sock. "I kept nine and a half."

"And how is that in any way _winning_?" Sergei eyed the blackened tip of Lucy's right little toe with a slight shudder.

"Boris said I would lose half of them, easy. But he was wrong, weren't you?"

Boris kept his face unreadable as he cleaned up his supplies and sat back on his heels, regarding Lucy gravely as she triumphantly wiggled her toes. "Well, they are very small."

Sergei sent Boris a grateful look. "You know Lucy, since Boris was able to successfully counteract the frostbite, you should probably be saying that _he _ won."

"My circulation, my victory."

Boris shrugged and gestured for Sergei to sit.

The Ravenclaw began examining one of the stocking shaped oven mitts Boris had used to restore circulation in Lucy's feet. "Griffen fur?"

Boris handed Lucy a second pair of socks and nodded at Sergei as Stiva slipped back into the tent.

"Five minutes and Turovtsyn starts, then we can move."

Boris nodded and began pulling on his cloak and gloves, while passing out more cold weather gear to Lucy and Sergei.

"The best place for us to all meet up is the surgery and burn ward, it's on the dormitory level and teachers never come there. We just need to make sure Brumhilda doesn't slip in for a nap. Kostya has arranged coordinated bouts of food poisoning all day to keep her occupied."

"Brumhilda?" Sergei mouthed.

"The nurse," Lucy muttered as she double knotted the laces of a pair of borrowed boots a size too large.

"It' Saturday," Stiva continued, "so Barabbas is cooking, no one would think twice about the cause of stomach sickness."

Sergei looked at Lucy again, and mouthed "Barabbas?"

Lucy nodded, "The cook." Some of Boris' best stories involved Barabbas. He was more a piece of local color than a person worthy of a color coded file like the kind she _knew_ the Ravenclaws had started on everyone else they learned of from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang intelligence, so she'd left him out of the briefings. His name would not be found scrawled cryptically on a single Hogwarts toilet stall. Although from the look on Sergei's face, that anonymity might not last long.

"Anyway," Stiva continued, "Mishka Turovtsyn is the first case, he was going start as soon as I gave Kostya word you had arrived. Once he starts, we're off. I'll go grab you two some cloaks."

Sergei looked at Lucy as Stiva dashed out again. "Cook? What happened to the house-elves?"

"Hey I mentioned in my first briefing that there weren't any elves here. I'm sure you have those minutes filed away in triplicate somewhere."

They did, and he intended to review them as soon as they got back. "I thought they just couldn't keep many, there's really not a single one?" He looked almost horrified.

Lucy shook her head. "Moon-calf Freedom Fest '69."

"They released them?"

Boris shrugged "They took advantage of the situation."

"Which was?"

"A serendipitous combination of a misplaced semi-legal herbology project and a Care of Magical Creatures assignment gone completely amuck." Lucy grinned, she loved this story, it represented the kind of freedom from magical oppression she had dreamt of during her first years at Hogwarts. And still did, occasionally.

"They thought it was oregano." Boris added.

"Who did?"

"The house elves," said Lucy.

"Or so they claim," finished Boris.

Sergei looked back and forth between Lucy and Boris who had obviously discussed the incident before. "So, what happened?"

"A borscht to remember… followed by a hippie love fest and a school-wide streaking which the elves flocked to in droves."

"The elves streaked?"

Boris shook his head. "The students."

"And the elves?"

"Grabbed the clothes before they hit the ground. We haven't been able to keep a cook for more than one season ever since."

"Until Barrabas," Lucy clarified.

"What made him stay?"

"Seven outstanding warrants and a vindictive ex-wife. And I think he feels responsible." Boris shrugged.

"Why would he feel responsible?"

"It was his herbology project."

Stiva stepped in, bearing a pair of cloaks. "Put these on and let's be off."

Lucy exited the tent, blinking at the midnight-like mid-morning stars.

"We'll stick to the roof," Stiva was suddenly at her elbow. "It's colder, but there's much less chance of being seen."

The roof appeared to be one giant flat expanse to Lucy, and between the Arctic light and the snow that had begun to fall she could hardly tell where it dropped off into the courtyard.

"Watch your step," before she knew what was going on, Stiva had picked her up and hauled her over a chasm 3 feet wide. As he set her on her feet she noticed with some satisfaction that Boris had helped Sergei over in a similarly undignified fashion.

"What is that?" She stared down at the narrow alley between the buildings. Stiva pulled her along.

"That? The Southwestern passage, divides the West wing from the Southwest wing, the 7th years from the 6th years, the Classics from the Periodicals, and Ancient Runes from Astronomy."

"Huh?"

But he was hurrying her along. There were no tents on this portion of the roof, but several impressive ice sculptures.

Stiva snorted, "6th year charms midterm used to be to build an ice sculpture. They're working on more destructive spells this year, but I guess they decided to continue the competition anyway."

"Is that a drawbridge-" Stiva hurried her along.

As they approached another chasm between wings, Lucy made to jump, but Stiva threw her over in one effortless gesture, leapt himself, caught her elbow and kept going.

"Southern passage. Divides southwest wing from south wing, , 6th year barracks from 4th year barracks, Periodicals from Myths-Lore-Fiction, and Arithmancy from Astronomy." He hurried on, nearly dragging Lucy behind his long strides.

By now she got into the rhythm of run, get tossed, scramble up, run again. She also began to understand Stiva, connecting his running commentary with the description Boris had given her of the school layout in an early letter.

"Southeastern Passage. Divides south wing from southeast wing, 4th years from 2nd years, Myth-Lore-Fiction from History, and the Astronomy Department from History of Magic."

The uppermost level of the school contained student dormitories, the staff all lived in the subterranean levels or in various levels of the Astronomy tower. Rather than houses as at Hogwarts, all students of the same year lived together in the same barracks, which occupied the third floors of 7 of the 8 wings of the school, with the surgery occupying the third floor of the 8th wing. The second floor of the school was entirely composed of the massive Durmstrang Library. The 1st floor contained some of the classrooms and offices, as well as the dining room.

They jumped again.

"Eastern passage. Separates the southeast wing from the east wing, 2nd years from the Surgery, History from the Infirmary, and the History of Magic Department from the Headmasters office, the Main Entrance, and the Administrative Records office.

Boris stopped, pulled open a trapdoor and motioning them down an impossibly narrow curve of stairs.

There was a small door at the bottom that Stiva, Boris, and Sergei had to duck through. They emerged in a hallway with windows opening into a central courtyard, which Lucy barely had time to take in before she was pulled into a door too her left.

There wasn't much to sit on in the sterile, windowless surgery, so Lucy hopped onto the operating table next to Sergei, Stiva unfolded his long legs on a stool, and Boris stood, leaning against the sink.

Moments later the door opened and closed in a flash, and before them stood a lithe brunette with bangs and a ponytail, and a boy whom Lucy could only imagine was Kostya.

Constantine Golernishev, "Kostya" in the odd fashion of Russian nicknames, was too damned handsome for his own good. He stood as tall as Stiva, and a good inch taller than Boris, but where Stiva had a mop of red curls with a neglected beard to match, and Boris military close-cropped brown hair and a closer trimmed beard, Constantine reeked of polish. No beard obscured his perfect bone structure and his thick jet black hair was combed so perfectly she would have suspected him of charming it, except that Constantine was not a person who would stoop to such measures. You could tell by the way he walked.

He strode into the room, and with a casual flick of his wrist, a circle of chairs appeared.

"Show off," Stiva chuckled, before turning a chair around and straddling it, resting his arms on the back.

Boris pushed away from the wall and held out a seat for Sergei and Lucy. "Lucy, Sergei, this is Constantine Golernishev, President of the Guard, and Varvara Dragomir, our Vice President. Kostya, Varenka, this is Sergei Petrov and Lucy Montero, the representatives from Hogwarts."

"You are the ones that have been writing to Borislav?" Varenka asked brightly as she took the seat Boris held out for her next to Sergei.

"I have," Lucy offered, "Sergei is just my bodyguard."

"Bodyguard?" Verenka raised one gorgeous eyebrow at Sergei and expertly twirled a strand of hair around her finger. "Like Stiva? He's our sergeant at arms."

The boy actually stuttered. "I'm not really a bodyguard in any formal capacity, I was really just along to make sure she didn't fall off her broom.. Or cause yet another international incident. She has a record."

"We know," Stiva grinned. "Pathetic, really, it sounds like you were hardly even trying Lucy."

"Stiva," Kostya sighed, and shook his head.

Lucy decided that, after Boris, Stiva was probably her favorite.

Varenka rolled her eyes and continued. "In any case, welcome. You should know that you are the first outsiders to be shown the way to the school in centuries."

"You're secret is safe with me," Lucy shrugged, "I have absolutely no idea whether I'm closer to Bolivia or Beirut."

"The point," Kostya went on, "Is that we've broken one of the cardinal rules of Durmstrang. As guardians of student security, we had no other choice. But that is the reason this must all be kept so sec-"

A soft knock on the door in a distinct rhythm had Boris moving to open it and let in a pretty blonde with a mischievous grin and a covered tray. "Breakfast anyone?"

"Secret." Kostya finished with a huff.

The blonde chuckled, set the tray on the operating table, and gave Lucy and Sergei a dazzling smile. "I'm Anna, Anna Nikitin, I'm the senior student in charge of third years. You must be Lucy, and…?

Sergei stood and offered his hand. "Sergei Petrov."

Anna shook his hand then handed each of the newcomers a plate from the tray. "You must be starving after a crossing like that. I didn't miss anything, did I?" She cast her eyes to Kostya.

"No. How are things going?"

"More effective then we planned. Mishka vomited, again, all over Brumhilda. She'll spend an hour cleaning herself up, and when she emerges Seryozha is ready and waiting. He ate twice as much as he normally does at breakfast. Should be quite a show."

"He's very dedicated," Stiva added.

"Anyway," Kostya went on, "We are trying to keep student involvement today to as few people as possible. Most of the students involved in the distractions don't know why they are necessary."

"You understand that it is vital to our success that as few Durmstrangers as possible know about the plan until it is implemented."

"Speaking of the plan," Lucy put down her fork, "before we go see the school there is a proposal that the Society has asked Sergei and I to bring to your attention. Well, mostly Sergei, actually."

Lucy turned to her schoolmate expectantly.

Sergei put his plate on the floor, leaned his elbows on his knees, and looked directly across the circle at Kostya. "We think we can help…"

* * *

After Sergei had finished, the Durmstrangers had erupted into conversation, with the exception of Boris and Kostya. The group was huddle in a corner around Kostya, and while Anna, Varenka, and Stiva spoke loudly and often, Boris seemed to communicate almost entirely through small changes in his facial expression, and Kostya never yelled, but spoke in a quiet, controlled voice only after everyone else had shut up and given him their complete attention.

Lucy and Sergei continued to quietly eat their breakfasts.

"I don't think they were expecting that," Lucy whispered.

"It's a good plan."

"Think they'll do it?"

Sergei eyed Constantine; he knew of his family, but until today had never set eyes on any of the Golernishevs. But, he knew of their reputation.

Unlike in Britain, there was no central governing body for the Russian wizarding community. It was composed of independent city-states, many of which existed long before the muggle Russian Empire hit its peak; and each with it's own powerful families. Sergei, and indeed, most of Hogwarts Russian students, hailed from the St. Petersburg oblast. The Golernishevs had connections everywhere, but the family had been active in the Duma of the Moscow oblast for centuries. That region was fiercely independent, very proud, and terribly old fashioned. Igor Karkarov had come from the same area.

The political structure of the region was the primary reason that Durmstrang was so remote- it _had_ to be in order for families from all over the country to send their children there. Each individual region could not afford to staff and run their own school, nor would families agree to send their children to study inside a rival region. There was a long history of betrayals and dirty dealings between oblasts, and no one trusted the other.

Durmstrang had representation on its board from each oblast, and was well outside the jurisdiction or control of any one city state, so it should have been neutral territory. But it never worked out that way. The current headmaster always had extraordinary influence, more than he should. It was largely because of Karakarov's influence over the school that several of the more moderate families in St. Petersburg had arranged for their children to attend Hogwarts or other alternative schools. The Karkarovs were close allies of the Golernishevs.

Sergei knew Constantine was a Golernishev, but he also knew that Kostya was very familiar with the consequences of being too independent. He was the one in charge, he couldn't really afford to pass on this opportunity.

"Yeah, I think they will."

And so they did.

Kostya and Sergei remained closeted in the surgery along with Stiva and Varenka to work out the details of The Plan. Lucy's role in the entire operation was relatively small and focused, but required that she have a good visual memory of the school layout. While the others plotted, she put on Varenka's cloak and accompanied Anna and Boris on a brief tour.

It was nearing the lunch hour, so there were plenty of students crossing between the buildings, hoods drawn against the cold. Boris and Anna kept Lucy close between them as they crossed directly over the hub of walkways floating in the center of the courtyard to the opposite wing. Anna pushed open the door to the mostly empty seventh year barracks.

There was a wide hallway lit with torches, and a doorway immediately to her left that offered a glimpse of a long room with beds lining the walls.

"Boys quarters," Anna nodded to the left. There was no corresponding door on the right, not until they came nearly to the end of the hallway, where a similar door opened to the right. "Girls quarters," Anna nodded.

"So close together?"

Anna shrugged, "Every girl in the seventh year lives in that room- there's precious little privacy. We police it better than any spell or surveillance could."

They continued through the double doors at the end of the hall into a large common room with windows the full length of the wing, and four fireplaces.

"We were thinking here," Anna indicated the fireplace in the center of the far wall. Lucy examined the bricks, the structure, probed the stability of the energies underneath the wing.

"It feels sound, there shouldn't be any problem," she spun around in a circle, her eyes photographing the layout, as well as the smell, the temperature, and the rhythm of the place. It was happy, but the happiness was clouded over with frustration, anger, and fear.

She looked out the window at the dusky landscape. "Does the sun ever rise?"

Anna chuckled, "In winter that's about as good as it gets. Eventually the sun won't rise properly at all, and we will have twilight at the brightest part of the day. They charm the windows in the 1st years dorms until they get used to it. But after six years, you feel comfortable in the darkness."

"You wouldn't want to do this in the first year dorm, would you?"

Boris shook his head. "We ought to take you through, just in case."

Anna nodded, "They will mostly be at lunch, any stragglers, we'll tell them it's a spot inspection. They'll have to scramble for their beds, you can check out the common area while Boris and I pretend to eye the dorms."

The did just that, an inspection of every dorm. With the exception of a terrified first year and a group of mischievous looking third years, all of which received citations, they didn't run into anyone.

"No common areas, an entry hall, the dining room?" Lucy asked as they proceeded back to the surgery.

Anna shook her head. "The only places we have any ability to control are the barracks. We try this on the first or second floor, we won't make it."

The arrived back in the surgery to find Kostya and Sergei, heads still bent together in discussion. Stiva got up as they entered and consulted with Boris and Anna.

"Did anyone see you?"

Anna explained about the inspections. Stiva nodded, "They were going to be happening next week anyway. I can spin that holding them early was a way to keep the students on their toes. What were the third years doing?"

Boris shrugged, "Brewing a controlled substance."

Stiva's eyes lit up, "Anything good?"

Boris shook his head, "Unsuccessfully, by the smell of it."

Stiva sighed, "They'll have a couple of bellyaches, some temporary blindness, and learn how to build a proper still in a few years like any self-respecting fifth year."

He grinned at a mildly horrified Lucy. "And what did you make of our fair school?"

"There's an appalling lack of dust, cobwebs, and poltergeists."

"No self-respecting ghost would haunt this island," Anna snorted.

"There was the spirit of that old Hessian soldier."

"He used to shout at us while we ran laps. In cadence. Come to think of it, the teachers loved him."

"Where'd he go?"

Anna shrugged, "Vanished over a year ago, right around the time everything else stopped coming to the island. Maybe he figured going into the light was better than haunting a penal colony."

"You saw all that you needed," Constantine had turned away from his conversation and regarded Lucy with a probing stare.

Lucy nodded. Constantine made her uneasy. She wasn't sure exactly why, but she suspected it was because no one's hair should be that shiny.

"We should be going," Sergei stood up, and stretched. "We don't want to be missed."

Kostya nodded, "Anna, is the way clear?"

"We have ten minutes."

Kostya ushered them out of the surgery and over the walkway to the seventh year barracks.

Stiva pushed back the large table in front of the fireplace to give Lucy room. "You sure you don't want to take the brooms back?"

She held up a hand in pain. "Please, let us never speak of that terrible, terrible time ever again."

Sergei rolled his eyes as he handed Stiva back his coat. "Sometimes I think you're a witch, and sometimes you're only about half a step away from a Muggle, I can't decide."

"Muggle, definitely. The only flying I want to do is inside a pressurized steel tube with peanuts and movie with all the cuss words changed out. And a neck pillow."

Sergei looked pained, but turned to shake Stiva's hand. "The brooms were magnificent.'

With the threat of another long, wet, freezing flight as the penalty for failure, Lucy wasted no time in building her gate. She tapped nodes deep below the surface, hoping for energy untainted by the magic flowing above, and pulled it up, and over in an arch that used the bones of the existing fireplace. She spun the energy extra tight, weaving a lasting pattern that would ensure a fast connection and disconnection. When it was stable, she rested her hands and turned back to the group.

Boris, Stiva, Sergei, Varenka, Anna, and Constantine were staring at the gate.

Stiva clapped Sergei on the shoulder. "You're a braver man than I, Petrov."

Lucy rolled her eyes. "At least this way doesn't risk losing any toes."

"A toe may be a small price to pay."

"How do we know it's not a death trap?" Stiva made to poke the gate, but Lucy slapped his hand away.

"How will we know when it's time?" She asked Kostya.

Boris handed Lucy and Sergei two bundles- their clothes. Then he held up a small silver object.

"Your lighter?"

"I refilled it. Keep it on you. When you feel it heat up, it means we're trying to talk to you."

He leaned towards Lucy as he slipped the lighter into her pocket. He pulled back just enough to look straight into her eyes. "Never take it off. Whatever you do, don't let it out of your sight."

Lucy met Boris's stare with her own, and a wordless understanding passed between the grey eyes and the brown. Boris nodded, and stepped back.

Something occurred to Boris and as Sergei and Kostya said their goodbyes, he eyed Lucy closely. "Vasily, he always comes back smelling of kippers and bacon."

Lucy feigned surprise. "I have no comment."

"Stop feeding my bat."

Lucy ignored him as she thanked Stiva, Varenka, and Anna, and shook Constantine's hand.

She picked up her clothes and indicated with her head that Sergei should precede her through the gate.

"Not on your life Lucy."

Boys, honestly, everything the hard way.

She took Sergei's hand. "Try not to scream," she parroted his own words back at him, and gently tugged him over the threshold of the gate.

They landed in a heap, mostly due to Sergei's grabbing onto her shoulder like a drowning man, and Lucy got to her feet swiftly as the Ravenclaw rolled onto his stomach, vomited up his breakfast, and rolled away onto his back, gasping for air. She turned back to the gate, looking through at the common room of the school in the middle of the sea.

Kostya stood, arms crossed, in the center of the group of students, scrutinizing Lucy. Stiva was grinning and held out a hand to Varenka, who appeared to be passing him a few coins. Boris's mouth quirked up in what might have been a smile. He met Lucy's gaze and tapped his pocket. Lucy reached into hers and held up the lighter, which had survived the trip without any additional scratches. Boris nodded, and Lucy waved before reaching out, finding a sink for the energy, and dismantling the gate.

They were standing on the flat piece of roof above the Hufflepuff common room. It was after eight in the morning, but on a Saturday few were awake yet. Lucy took a few steps forward and found the two roof tiles that had anchored each side of the gate. They were inscribed with a set of runes, and still pulsed with the same energy as they had when she had created them a few days before. With a flick of her wrist, they shattered. If there was one thing Lucy was good at with that wand, it was making things blow up.

Hogwarts had the most sophisticated protections of any building in the wizarding world. Lucy was, on her very best day, a mediocre witch. It should have been impossible for a girl of hear meager understanding to bypass the school ward that blocked gating.

And it would have been, if it hadn't been for a terrible accident that had taken place the previous spring, when three of Hogwarts more famous ex-students had inadvertently crushed the oldest of Hogwarts many wards. The wards, built from a mixture of eastern and western magic, required the assistance of Western Circle Maintainers to re-establish and cleanse the mucked up energy network. Virgil, the leader of the Maintainer crew that had cleared away some pesky mage storms and set things to rights, had been wary of leaving Lucy and the other BA members cut off. He had jury-rigged a connection between Hogwarts and the web that united Lucy's Western Circle using the ancient mirror that now sat on the mantle of the BA workroom.

Also, whilst re-establishing the energy lines that fueled the wards, which themselves were rebuilt by Dumbledore, he had built in what he called "a password protected back door."

The backdoor was a means of circumventing the wards by nullifying the energy locally- "novocaine for the shield energy" was how he had described it. It created a tiny hole in the protections through which Lucy could reach through to the gate terminus. Without the hole, gating in or out of Hogwarst was impossible. The hole was created using a specific rune to hold the energy, two of them to create the end points of the arch that was essential to any gate. When that rune was activated by Lucy, with her own unique energy signature, it locally nulled the energy fueling the wards, and created the hole.

In short, Lucy could gate out of Hogwarts if she activated two runes, and she could gate back in if there were two runes already activated that she could connect to. The extent to which anyone else at Hogwarts knew of the weakness was unknown, and this was the first time Lucy had ever used it. It was supposed to be for emergencies.

Lucy didn't feel guilty at all. Her energy signature was the only one that vibrated at the right frequency to nullify the energy pool Virgil had re-established. It wasn't like it could be used by a Death Eater. And, as everyone kept pointing out, she wasn't gifted enough magically to create much trouble.

Secretly, she thought Virgil was still mad at Hogwarts for not sharing the knowledge gained from its spies last year to forewarn the Western Circle schools that they were going to be attacked by Death Eaters. This was his revenge.

Seemed perfectly normal, healthy even.

Sergei groaned in a very unhealthy sounding way.

"Oh it's not that bad."

"Promise me….promise me I never have to travel that way again."

Lucy placed one of his arms over her shoulder and helped him to his feet.

"At least you still have all your toes."

"I think I just vomited up my pancreas."

"Don't exaggerate. I'm sure it's just a spleen. Don't you have two of those?"

"That's kidneys, you barbarian."

Lucy pointed to the broom stick Lucas Getman had strapped securely behind the chimney.

"Cheer up, here's one last chance to torture me."

Sergei brightened a little, eying the drop to the courtyard.

Lucy sighed as she got on the broomstick behind him.

"Just, think about your shoes before you do anything rash."

It being a Saturday morning, no one was there to witness their descent. Lucy grabbed an apple from the still-mostly-empty Great Hall, occupied by only the Ravenclaw Satuday Study Group at this hour, and headed for Gryffindor tower.

She entered her room to find Lavender and Parvati had their curtains pulled tight, but from the feet poking out the end of the bed, at least one of them had fallen asleep in her party shoes.

"I miss all the fun."

She made quick work of getting undressed, waving to Sparks who was doing lazy loops passed the window, and fell into bed to the faint strains of "It's been a hard day's night."

* * *

In the aftermath of Lucy and Sergei's trip to Durmstrang, the International Society was a bustle of well-concealed activity. The Ravenclaws were in high heaven, drawing up plans and finding solutions to the problems that inevitably cropped up. The Hufflepuffs, diligent, hard workers that they were, labored cheerfully with hardly a complaint. The Slytherins by default ended up overseeing the majority of the operation while the Gryffindors ran odd jobs.

Lucy's only role in the grand plan was to hang on to Boris' lighter and continue the intelligence exchange. Which, Lucy's limited grasp of magic being considered, was probably for the best. With most of the society active on the Project, she and Marguerite made their report to a small group including only the house leaders and the students assigned to graffiti the latest rumors on the bathroom wall.

At the first meeting in December, it was Marguerite who had the most puzzling news.

"She's happy," the small girl frowned and shook her head.

"Who?" Lucy racked her brain as to who is was Marguerite communicated with, "Odette, the secretary?"

Marguerite nodded. "Her tone, I'm very familiar with it. It is very polite, but tense, cautious. She almost sounded giddy in this letter." Marguerite dug into the parchment with her quill. "It's unnatural"

"Honestly Marguerite, just because _we_ are terrified and paranoid to the point of eschewing all joy, doesn't mean we shouldn't begrudge others some small relief-"

Marguerite rolled her eyes. "I'm not saying _joy_ is unnatural Lucy, obviously. If she was happy about good news, then her tone would be understandable. But the letter dealt mainly with reports from the city. Those "unfriendly" cells are becoming increasingly active and operating on a larger scale."

"But she said this, cheerfully?" Vladimir consulted the transcript provided.

"What are the unfriendly things again?" Lucy flipped through Marguerite's footnotes.

"Vampires-" Gisella said offhandedly, "You're sure this isn't just Odette trying to sound brave?"

"This is substantially more than her typical nonchalance. If you consult the letter from November 1st-"

"Vampires!" Lucy squeaked.

Marguerite blinked, "Yes."

"When did this start?"

"Apparently sometime in the 15th century-"

"That's just in Paris."

"I mean when did we-"

"Lucy missed that meeting," Vladimir consulted his day planner. "It was during the Durmstrang trip, The owl came just after you two left. Marguerite felt it was important and called the meeting immediately."

"That was two weeks ago, no one decided to fill me in?" Lucy glared at William Lane.

"I forgot, I'm sorry, I've been the one hauling rocks!"

Marguerite sighed, "It's my fault, I really should have picked up on it sooner, she's been trying to tell me in her own way. Anyone involved in the resistance is subjected to a Discussion Embargo- so she physically couldn't speak directly of it."

"You did very well, Marguerite," Vladimir shook his head, "I can't think of how you would have put it altogether without that last bit of information."

"So, the Beauxbatons students are fighting vampires?"

"Of course not. The vampires have historically been centered in Paris, and the relationship between the vampire and magical community for the past 500 years has been at best tenuous and at worst nothing less than open warfare. Whatever the case, the students have traditionally been sheltered by the protections around the school."

"But they no longer appear to be as effective as they once were."

"Which means wizards are helping the vampires."

"They think "undesirables" from the city have been trying to infiltrate the campus through the old sewer system. The students have been monitoring activity down there and flushing out any scouts."

"Flushing out?"

"I'm not positive what that entails, but I expect some sort of incendiary device. It's tricky because the sewers are partially flooded and there have been sightings in the city sewer system of inferi-"

"Ick."

"And the vampires are getting more active, this is what Odette was _happy_ about?"

"I don't think she was happy about that precisely, but something else. The only reason I could imagine is they either found a way to re-establish the school's protections or they found a means of escape."

Dmitri raised an eyebrow. "It might be helpful to know what it was?"

"No, it wouldn't." Gisella sighed. "In this respect, the less we know, the better for everyone."

"Why?" William asked.

Lucy nodded, "Because, like it or not, we don't know that we aren't just as vulnerable as they are, and what we don't know, we can't be forced to tell."

"Cheerful thought," William grumbled. "Come to think of it, do _we_ have an escape plan?"

The room fell silent.

Vladimir made a note in his day planner. "We'll look into it."

* * *

Lucy huddled in her cloak, the rain stinging her face and almost completely blotting out the action on the Quidditch pitch.

"I can't see anything, are we winning?"

"Lucy, we aren't even playing," Bet chuckled and passed the sulking Gryffindor her omnoculars.

"Then what in the name of God are we doing outside when we could be dry? And warm? And feel all 9 and a half of our toes?"

"Nine and a half?"

Lucy had not told the BA about her trip beyond the Arctic circle. "Never mind. Just remind me why I am here?"

"We are supporting Rasheph and Lynx."

"Rasheph and Lynx belong to different houses."

"Nothing gets passed you, does it?"

"We can't support both of them."

"Because by supporting both of them we really aren't supporting either of them?"

"Exactly."

"I thought of that. I'm supporting Rasheph when he has the quaffle and Lynx when he has the bludger."

"Those two things can happen simultaneously."

"Those two things _have_ happened simultaneously."

"And you…?"

"Chose those moments to lose sight of the pitch due to the adverse weather conditions."

"And that time when Lynx sent the bludger at Rasheph's head, forcing him to barrel roll and miss the pass?"

"Never happened."

"But I saw-"

Bet looked at her sternly. "Lucy, if you want stability among our happy little dysfunctional family, you will agree that it never happened."

"What didn't happen?"

Bet smiled, "Good girl," she dug into her pocket and handed Lucy a licorice wand. "You sure your house won't mind you sitting over here?" She gestured about at the Slytherin section of the stands.

Lucy shrugged, "You know, I think I've achieved anonymity at last. No one really notices when I come and go except the IS and you lot. And since it was the Lane brothers, and everyone else for that matter, who abandoned me at Easter to be housed with the Slytherins, they know they're directly responsible for our "special" relationship and can't say much."

"And the rest of your house?"

"The only members of my year that get much attention are currently rumored to be camping in a forest in Transylvania."

"I heard it was Siberia."

"Just gossip."

"What about your roommates?"

"Largely absorbed in their pursuit of the ultimate distillation spell and a boy to drug with it. Ever since Sparks stopped coming into the castle, I've been kind of an afterthought…did we just see-"

"Rasheph cross-check Lynx? Of course not. It happened off the quaffle. No one notices that sort of thing. Seriously, your roommates don't notice when you're gone with us or the IS half the night?"

Lucy shrugged and chewed on her licorice wand, "They drink a lot."

Two hours later and the game showed no sign of stopping.

"They must be freezing."

Bet shrugged, "It's not so bad when you count the adrenaline."

"They've been in a stand off for over an hour, I don't think either side has any left. What _is_ that Ravenclaw doing to that bludger?"

One of the Ravenclaw beaters was off in her own little world down near her own goalposts, circling around a bludger, tapping it back and forth gently, seemingly oblivious to the game."

"I think that's Esmerelda. She likes to get to know the bludger. Says it helps her hit with more accuracy."

"It's not a pet."

"They kind of are, to her. In practice I hear she's been known to commune with one for hours."

"That sounds dirty."

"It's a strategy. Lures the other team into a false sense of security, she seems completely tuned out."

"She looks like she's been at the willow weed in greenhouse 7. This game would be over a lot faster if she would just try and clobber people like Lynx does."

"You could go back inside…"

"After the little 'we need to support Rasheph and Lynx' talk? Not a chance. Plus, I have a session with Lynx tomorrow, and if I leave now he'll spend the whole lesson giving me a complete blow-by-blow of the match and I might end up setting _him_ on fire. I shall endure."

Bet's lip curved up in a smile, "You're very good."

Lucy scowled, "Damn straight. And he better appreciate this."

"Well I'm sure you'll remind him…Oh no. Don't fall for it Izzy."

Isabel Sobel, possibly the tiniest girl to sit on a broom, had grown complacent. The first real breakaway the Hufflepuffs had managed in 45 minutes and she was streaking toward the goalposts.

Bet understood what she was seeing, unlike Lucy, who kept glancing at Bet and asking "What? What?"

Izzy was going to get hit, and at her size, unprepared, she was going to get knocked right off her broom.

Already the Slytherins were taking bets. "Wrist." "Forearm AND wrist." "Collarbone."

"You people are sick."

Izzy reached the Ravenclaw zone. At the same time, Esmerelda decided to let her pet bludger off it's leash.

Lynx wasn't able to get to his teammate in time, and it was probably mostly out of a desire to keep the tiny girl in one piece, and with hardly any consideration for the score that he reached out with his head and tugged on the bludger.

"Oh you barmy bloody-minded buggering gormless wanker!"

"Lucy!" Bet stared at her, appalled.

But Lucy was watching the scene unfold. She had warned Lynx and Rasheph about the dangers of manipulating the energy fields of semi-sentient magical objects. She had tried just once, when she cloaked the Hogwarts Golden Snitch mid-match, and spent the rest of the game as the sole focus of its' fevered attention. She had ended up with a concussion and a lesson well learnt.

That had been a Snitch, an object whose sole purpose was to fly quickly and avoid contact.

Lynx had just attracted the attention of a bludger, an object with a completely different raison d'etre.

It came around at him in the blink of an eye, connecting with his temple before he even realized what had happened.

"Ouch," Bet winced as Madam Hooch and the Hufflepuff reserve squad carried the unconscious Lynx off the field.

"Idiot," Lucy muttered, then suddenly brightened. "Does this mean I can leave?"

"What happened to supporting the boys?"

"Well, I can support the idiot, and you can support Rasheph."

"You really think calling him the idiot is supportive?"

"More supportive than what I want to call him."

"Speaking of language, don't let Rasheph hear you talking that way."

"Who do you think taught me?"

Bet sighed. "Fine, I'll stay out in the rain, you go."

Lucy grinned, "Just let Rasheph know I was here all this time, I expect full points for this."

"Leave before I hurt you."

Lucy chuckled and nearly skipped out of the stands.

* * *

Gryffindor tower was empty when Lucy stopped in to change into dry clothes. Why anyone would be out in weather like this when their own house wasn't playing was a mystery to her. She intended to stop by the hospital wing, knew very well she would be barred by Madam Pomfrey, and could then spend an afternoon in blissful solitude in the workroom, having fulfilled her promise.

She was feeling very proud of herself as she approached the hospital wing door, almost at the same time as Professor Flitwick.

She had expected Professor Sprout, Lynx's head of house.

He knocked on the door. Loud banging and clattering could be heard from within.

"It's me, Poppy," he added.

The door opened to reveal a very flustered and, if she wasn't mistaken, slightly embarrassed Madam Pomfrey, who slipped out and shut it behind her.

"Thank you for coming, Professor. I don't know _what_ is going on."

"Nothing to be embarrassed about, most likely a prank, some of the new Weasley gift items are spelled to be charm-resistant to create just this sort of chaos. They sent me one for my birthday, terribly proud of it."

"But these are my own instruments!"

"Well," Flitwick frowned, "I'm sure the restraining processes work in much the same way. May I?"

"By all means," she motioned him in and held a hand out to prevent Lucy.

"I'm afraid Mr. Brimstead is still unconscious Miss Montero. He has a brain contusion, and patients with brain contusions don't appreciate visitors."

Lucy nodded. She had seen the aftermath when one of the boys on the res was hit by a car at low speed. He didn't break anything, but the force of his brain slamming into his skull was enough to cause a bruise. A side effect was that he had no conscious control over what he was saying. Lucy had learned a great deal about swear words, sex, and sundry adult topics in the three hours she and Diego had spent listening at the door of the school sickroom before Rosa ran them off.

"You can come back in the morning," Madame Pomfrey went on.

She pursed her lips at another loud clang.

"Who in their right mind enchants _medical equipment_!" She sighed, "Good afternoon, Miss Montero."

Dismissed, as expected, Lucy hopped off to spend her quiet afternoon in the BA workroom.

* * *

When Lucy emerged at the beginning of dinner, the Great Hall was mostly empty. The Quidditch game was still going on. Lucy felt a bit guilty about leaving Bet out in the rain, but it passed in a moment and she grabbed a plate and returned to the workroom.

Where Lynx was standing in a pair of striped hospital wing pajamas with a bandage on his head and a very strange look in his eye.

"Shouldn't you be in bed?" Lucy took a bite of her chicken leg and eyed the bandage on Lynx's temple.

"My head hurts."

"You got hit by a bludger."

"Hurts inside, burns."

"Well then let's take you back to –"

"Aw shut it Lucy."

Lucy recoiled. Lynx was irreverent, and often inappropriate. But Lynx was never mean.

"You need to rest," she began again.

"You need to listen. Christ Almighty, you never listen. Always giving orders, telling me what to do. Drives me crazy." He winced, grabbing his temples. "my fucking head!"

The contusion. Of course, he didn't have conscious control over his speech, and likely over his gift as well. She hadn't thought of it- most people who had gifts this developed had honed their control to the level that their gifts were safe even when concussed. But control had never been Lynx's strong suit.

An appalling thought passed through her brain as she recalled her conversation with Rasheph about Lynx's illicit firestarting experiments.

"Lynx I'm going to help you," she kept her voice low and even, without a sign of tremble. "I'm going to look inside for a minute."

She reached out and probed the telekinetic channel. She heard Lynx hiss in pain, and was aware of a few small objects leaping off the table, but they stopped almost as soon as they started, as soon as the channel clamped down. His unconscious control, the exercises Lucy had forced him to do over and over until he could do them in his sleep, had paid off. He had lost some control, and probably driven the nurse to distraction, but he was still in control of most of the gift.

She took a breath, and probed the pyrokinetic channel.

Flames shot out of the fireplace, and Lynx screamed.

"Shit."

The channel was not only far, far bigger than it had been the last time Lucy had checked, which meant Lynx had become stronger through his experiments, but it had no control whatsoever. The muscle that could clamp it shut was weak and soft as a noodle.

Lynx wouldn't be able to stop easily, if at all.

"What the fuck are you doing? Get the fuck out of my fuckin' head!"

"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry. I won't any more."

This was bad, she thought, as she watched a pile of notebooks near the fire smolder and ignite. This was really, really bad.

"Too right you won't. It hurts!"

"I can make it stop."

She hoped.

"No, stay away! I'll stop it on my own!"

"I don't think you can." He might just make it worse. She couldn't risk taking him out of the room- he might set the hall on fire.

"You never want me to! Just because you can't!"

"No, that's not it. I just want you to be safe."

"My gift is fine, see?"

A tongue of flame appeared out of thin air halfway between them. Lynx grinned in triumph.

Oh shit. "I see. You've made your point, now stop it."

Lynx frowned, but the flame didn't go away, it grew, and multiplied.

"Stop it!" Lucy lost her soothing tone as the flames continued to grow, and sparks began to ignite the papers on the table, smoldered among the sofa cushions, and licked along the baseboards.

By now Lynx had realized the awful truth, but his fear began to feed back into his gift, and the flames expanded.

The bookshelves went, the dry papers forming pillars of fire on both sides of the door.

Lucy pulled a shocked and horrified Lynx away from the sofa, but the way to the staircase was blocked when the chair erupted in flames.

Smoke was beginning to choke the room. Any escape attempt could lead to a trail of fire throughout the school. As Lucy pulled Lynx to the ground and gulped air, she knew what she had to do.

"I need you to try Lynx, really, really try, or I'm going to have to stop you."

"I…I can't. It just makes it worse."

They lay on their bellies, and as Lucy turned her head under the couch, she found the remains of the old bludger she had decorated as a turkey for Thanksgiving.

She gripped it in her hand, and got to her knees, her eyes tearing up in the thick smoke.

"I'm really, really sorry about this."

At that moment three things happened.

Lynx was hit in the head by a bludger for the second time that day.

The fires stopped growing, no longer aggravated by his gift.

And Snape burst through the door as Lucy's hand came down, striking Lynx in the temple and causing his head to drop into her lap.

Madame Pomfrey arrived fast on Snape's heels, and immediately took charge of her wayward patient. He was floated off to the hospital wing as Lucy was marched by Snape to his office.

"Sit."

She did.

"Miss Montero, I want an explanation."

Somewhere between the workroom and the office, Lucy had realized she would be asked this question, and by the time she sat down she had also realized that there was literally no way she would answer it that wouldn't incriminate not only Lynx, but essentially the entire BA.

So she said nothing.

"Miss Montero, you do realize that the situation could not be more serious. You were the sole wanded individual in the middle of a burning room. I witnessed you assault a fellow student, who, I can only assume, you meant to leave in the midst of that conflagration. If you have any explanation, now would be the time to give it."

Lucy said nothing, and stared at the floor.

Disgusted, Snape took a piece of parchment and began to write in furious strokes. He banged the seal on the bottom of the document with force and signed before the wax was dry.

"You leave me no choice, Miss Montero. You are henceforth expelled from Hogwarts School."

Lucy jerked her head up.

"Because the headmistress is away, this will be formalized when she returns or by the approval of the board of governors. Your wand will be returned to you once you are removed from the school grounds. Once the expulsion is made official, the authorities will come destroy it."

He looked up, and lifted an eyebrow, and smiled.

"You are dismissed, Miss Montero."

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&


	8. Chapter 8: Go Down Moses

**Chapter Eight: Go Down Moses**

_I know not whether Laws be right or whether Laws be wrong;_  
_all that we know who live in gaol is that the wall is strong;_  
_and that each day is like a year, a year whose days are long._

~Oscar Wilde

She had thirty minutes to pack if she was to catch the evening train. An uncomfortable-looking Flitwick escorted her to the Fat Lady.

Gryffindor tower was as empty as it had been that afternoon. The match must still be going on.

Lucy thought about taking a long last look, about remembering her favorite times in this room, about placing hidden notes for those she was leaving behind, about taking a moment.

Instead she proceeded straight to her room. She didn't have a tremendous amount of time.

The first thing she did was strip the pillowcase off her bed and toss inside her enchanted score, the key, and her notebooks from her correspondence with Boris. She knotted it and tied a note for Svetlana Kornakovitch around the neck.

Everything else went into her trunk. She peeled the tattered license plate off the wall, tossed it on the top, slammed the lid shut, and dragged it down the stairs.

Flitwick still held her wand, and used his own to float her trunk along beside them as they headed for the front door. He didn't notice the tiny crease that appeared between Lucy's eyebrows as they walked.

_**Bet?**_

_**It's rude to gloat from afar Lucy. I think this thing is almost over, the Seekers have been chasing it for five minutes-**_

_**I don't care about the game. Listen quick because I don't have a lot of time. You have to get Lynx to Istanbul for the Christmas break.**_

_**What? Why? What happened?**_

_**The brain contusion caused a great deal more damage than I thought, he should be fine with proper care,, but there's been a complication.**_

_**What complication?**_

_**The workroom has been torched, discovered, and I've been expelled.**_

_**Lucy don't joke.**_

_**Flitwick has my wand and is escorting me to the door as we speak.**_

_**Under who's authority?**_

_**Snape's. **_

_**But Snape can't do that. He's not the headmaster!**_

_**He is until McGonagall gets back. I'm not sure whether to be angry or overjoyed, but the important consequence now is that you guys are in charge of taking care of Lynx. If you can get him to London, I'll set it up so some of the doctors from Istanbul can escort him from the station, and take care of him. You just have to keep him under control until break.**_

_**That's weeks away!**_

_**Just two. Try to shield him, he doesn't have a lot of control.**_

_**Lucy, what happened?**_

_**It wasn't his fault. You should try and recover as much from the workroom as you can, I don't think the fire reached the mantelpiece, and the mirror is very valuable. Virgil would kill me if-**_

_**We'll get it out.**_

A soggy looking Hagrid met them at the entryway. Flitwick passed off her trunk and handed Hagrid her wand.

"You'll get it back once you are off school property. Good luck, Miss Montero."

He trotted back into the school, as a befuddled Hagrid jerked his shoulder.

"Come on then, Lucy."

_**I'm going to be out of your range in a minute. Use the Mirror to get in touch. I'll talk to you soon.**_

_**Try and stay out of trouble.**_

Lucy followed Hagrid in silence across the grounds.

" 'Snot so bad really, bein' expelled." Hagrid said with some forced cheer as they approached the village.

"I was expelled me'self once. Feels awful when it 'appens, of course. But after a'while folks ferget, an your just like any other person."

Lucy said nothing. She hadn't spoken to anyone besides Bet since Snape burst into the workroom, and she decided that there was no reason to start now.

From the Quidditch pitch, a great roar could be heard. Whistles and cheers and not a few groans. She wondered who had won.

Hagrid cocked his ear to the noise.

"Hmph, figures, I leave fer 20 minutes an the game finishes."

Lucy watched the bobbing wand lights spill out of the pitch and towards the school. All things considered, she probably should have just stayed at the game.

She trudged along, half running to keep up with the groundskeeper's long strides. She couldn't tell if she was happy or sad, her feelings on her release were obscured by a thick layer of guilt and an opaque coating of righteous anger connected with the manner of her departure and were impossible to make out.

When they passed through the gates and outside the school protections, Hagrid dug into his pocket and handed Lucy her wand. She stuck it in her pocket without a word.

She reminded herself that she had never wanted to come to Hogwarts in the first place. She still didn't quite understand what Professor Antolin had been thinking when he asked Joaquin to deposit her in the middle of the Great Hall those years ago. And despite the fact that she'd amassed some loyal, albeit unlikely friends, especially since last year, and her own school was a vacant shell waiting for it's members to return from the void, Hogwarts wasn't home to her the way it was a second home to most of it's students.

So why wasn't she dancing through the puddles?

They reached the station as the rain subsided to a drizzle. Hagrid spoke to the head steward of a grimy, purple locomotive that was obviously not the Hogwarts Express. Lucy squinted at the faded gold lettering on the side of the cars that read "Highland Flyer."

Hagrid returned and Lucy followed as he hoisted her trunk through the window to the steward, who placed it in the first compartment.

"He'll, er, let ye out when they get to London."

Lucy eyed the steward, who regarded the juvenile delinquent he was transporting as one might an unexploded bomb. She wondered if that was because he was familiar with what had happened to the last locomotive she patronized.

"If you don't mind, Miss," he hissed the last word as he inclined his head inside the coach.

Lucy climbed the stairs and entered the compartment, which was locked behind her.

Remembering something, she hurried to pull open the window.

Speaking for the first time since the incident, she shouted for Hagrid, who turned in surprise.

"You'll take care of Sparks, won't you? Explain to him that I had to leave, that I didn't abandon him?"

Hagrid nodded once, "Sure, sure I can Lucy. Er, good luck." He gave her an awkward wave, as if he was unsure if he was supposed to wish her well or not.

Lucy returned it notheless and closed the window. As the train pulled away she watched the village and the castle beyond disappear into the distance.

With a sigh, she quieted her breathing and woke up her brother.

* * *

Diego was thrilled, elated. He considered her expulsion an early Christmas present and insisted she buy him nothing else.

Once he had finished crowing they discussed the Lynx situation. It was settled that he would be transported by Istanbul's finest, and only if his injury was beyond their skill would they consider moving him to Tibet.

The Highland Flyer made several stops through the night. It was morning when it finally limped into King's Cross. Lucy muscled her trunk out of the station and hailed a taxi. She thanked the gods that the train stewards were accustomed to exchanging muggle and magic currency. She had just enough to get her to the Ally and then the airport.

Diego had been all for getting her out immediately, but she held firm that she needed to empty the Gringott's account of the little that remained, sell off what she could of her school supplies, and stop by the Embassy. If she was leaving the wizarding world behind, she wanted to be thorough, and leave no trace of herself on the books.

There was still the question of Asriel's workroom- and the volumes it still contained. Hopefully they would be able to quietly remove what Lucy had not yet taken sometime in the future, when things had calmed down.

It was early yet in Diagon Ally. Shops were not open, so Lucy passed by Slatkin's Slightly Worn but Still Serviceable School Supplies and continued down the lane to examine the window of Fred and George's shop. It wasn't open yet, but the lights glowing behind the display suggested it would be soon. A few of the Saint Nick Snacks, guaranteed to sprout a snowy white beard for anywhere from 30 minutes to 3 hours once ingested, looked like a fine present for Diego.

As she perused the merchandise she didn't hear the footfalls behind her. But the shadows on the glass shifted her focus from the wares inside the window to her reflection. She was no longer alone, but flanked by two tall men in expensively cut robes.

"Lucy Montero?"

She was forced to turn around as the man on her right spoke and the man on her left turned her by the shoulder.

"You must now come with us."

She found herself incapable of doing anything else. She could not open her mouth to cause a scene, she couldn't run, or struggle. The steady hand on her shoulder restrained her from doing anything but quietly walking along between the two men. Her trunk had been shrunk to the size of a paperback book, and floated along behind her. They turned away from the window and headed down the street.

At the same moment, Fred's face appeared in the door as he turned the sign from "CLOSED" to "OPEN". He squinted as Lucy turned away and walked between the two men.

Bemused to find her out of school so early, he opened the door and called her name, but she didn't answer.

"Shouting at the customers might not be our finest strategy," George appeared at his elbow.

"True. But I do believe that's the little American girl- the one that Ron hated. Lydia."

"Lucy, I think you mean."

"Hmph, no wonder she didn't answer."

"Shouldn't she be in school?"

"My thoughts exactly, maybe we've sparked a trend." Fred beamed proudly.

"She doesn't seem to be enjoying her irresponsibility the way she ought to though, does she?"

"Those blokes don't look like very much fun."

"You think she's in trouble?"

"She didn't seem to be… just bored."

George sighed, "A waste, but not a crime."

Verity's voice came from the back of the shop. "George! They've escaped again!"

"Damn it all- OK, shuffle your feet and stay away from the walls, I'm coming!"

He raised an eyebrow at his twin. "Some help? These were _your_ idea."

Fred turned away from Lucy's disappearing form and sighed. "I'll get the tranquilizers, you get the fire extinguisher."

* * *

Lucy's free will seemed limited to her ability to move her eyeballs and blink. She had no idea where she was being taken, but, judging by the way her day had been going so far, it couldn't be good.

But she had no idea what they were doing as they approached the steps of Gringotts, of all places.

The man on her left said not a word as the man on her right preceded them into the bank. They did not approach a teller, but instead headed straight for the goblin manning the desk at the far corner of the room, next to the doorway that led into the vaults.

The goblin merely looked from the man on her right, to Lucy, and back, then raised an eyebrow.

The agent on the right inclined his head in Lucy's direction. "Agent Stubbins to make a deposit."

* * *

As Lucy sat on the dingy cot, staring at the four dim walls of her cell, illuminated by the harsh light filtering in from the tiny window high on the door, she tried to comprehend exactly what had happened in the previous two hours.

None of it made sense.

While she had still been reeling from the phrase "Deposited", the goblin had led the two agents and herself into a rickety car. What was already a terrifying experience was made worse when the goblin spoke something unintelligible and the track in front of them simply disappeared. She still didn't have the power of speech, so the scream she let out as the car plummeted for several seconds before landing on a hidden set of tracks apparently running below the bank line was entirely silent.

They rolled to a stop in front of what appeared to be an ordinary vault. Ordinary, that is, until the goblin tickled the door and it opened, revealing a long and narrow room with four more doors and a bored looking goblin sitting on a stool working a crossword puzzle.

"One for deposit in vault 24601," the goblin on the outside of the vault reported.

The goblin inside nodded, and after the guards led Lucy into the narrow room, the vault door swung shut behind them.

"Arm please," the new goblin held out his hand, and Lucy found herself putting her left arm out, palm up.

"Charges please," he raised an eyebrow to Agent Stubbins, who handed him a piece of parchment. The goblin looked at Lucy, raised one eyebrow, shrugged, and began to select a number of thin metal bands in an assortment of colors from a large supply that hung from his belt. He placed each over Lucy's left forearm, and they encircled it, tightening to the point that it would be impossible to slip off.

He walked up and down in front of the four doors, before stopping and tickling the farthest on the left. It opened to reveal a space no larger than a broom closet. Lucy's silent guard marched her up to the doorway, and shoved her through.

Then he released her.

She immediately had her voice back.

"What the hell is going on? What did I do? Where am I?"

But her two companions had already stepped back. The goblin merely looked bored as he consulted a list hanging on a peg by the door.

"Processing time from this point is 45 minutes. Have a nice day."

And with a flick of his finger, the door closed.

43 minutes later, the closet opened, but on the opposite side of the way she had come in. One minute she was in darkness, the next there was light streaming in behind her.

She turned around in time to see the light totally eclipsed by the body of a massive woman. She could have been a linebacker. Hell, she could have _eaten_ a linebacker.

"New deposit?"

"Who are you? What the hell-"

"Come with me," the woman sounded bored as she took Lucy's shoulder in a vice grip and hauled her out of the closet and into a dingy room with faded green walls and terrible fluorescent-like lighting.

She shoved Lucy down at the chair in front of one of several desks in the room. Across from her, between a mountain of paperwork and half eaten ham sandwich, sat a sweaty, balding man. Directly in front of her on the desk was her trunk.

"Name?" He asked without looking up. One hand held a quill, the other a cup of coffee.

"Number 61213," the woman replied for her.

"Charges?"

The extremely large woman nudged Lucy's shoulder, "Left arm."

She held it out, still mystified as the clerk looked up at the collection of colored bands. He dropped the coffee with a heavy thud, then hastily wiped the spill off the official documents.

When he had finished his list, he handed Lucy a separate document. "Is this an accurate statement of the entire contents of this trunk and your personal effects?"

Lucy read a detailed listing of everything that was in her trunk, which the officers had apparently already rifled through.

"No, there's a mistake."

"Line?"

"Line 23- that's not actually my purple bra, it must have gotten mixed up in my things."

The officer raised his eyebrow. Lucy shrugged. "This is all completely ridiculous, but if you want honesty, then I can honestly say that my boobs are not that big. Check the size against lines 20-22, notice a flaw?"

The officer rolled his eyes, "X on the bottom line please."

Lucy made a note next to item 23, and then signed.

The officer continued in the same didactic tone, as if he was reading from a script.

"Matron will issue you with prison uniform. You will place the remaining personal effects inside this envelope, which will remain in your possession until you return."

Changing with the massive woman in the room was a little unnerving, and Lucy returned quickly, now clad in a set of gray drawstring pants and a matching shirt. On the back of the shirt was the number 61213.

"Seal here please," the officer pressed Lucy's palm on top of the plain, brown box that held her effects, and the seams dissolved into one flawless object.

The officer stamped the box, and handed Lucy her receipt.

"Have a nice day."

"Wait a second, no one has told me what I'm doing here! When can I post bail? Where's my phone call?"

The officer blinked, bewildered. "Charges should have been made clear before you entered processing, there is no bail, and what exactly is a phone call?"

She wanted to scream. "What am I being charged with?"

He raised his eyebrows, and gestured to her wrist. "You_ really_ don't know?"

Lucy ground her teeth. "No. I've never been _DEPOSITED_ before!"

"There's not need to shout, 61213."

"My name is-"

"No one gets a name, they get a number."

"Explain these, please." She shook her left arm so the metal bands jangled.

The booking officer sighed. "Fine. You have been charged with one count attempted murder, one count of assault, two bombings, two counts of arson, obstruction of justice, and violation of the statute of secrecy."

Lucy stared.

"Have a nice day."

With that the matron had hauled a numb Lucy past the desks, and through a door marked "Vault 24601-D". It opened to reveal a three level cell block. She was marched up to the third level and pushed into a cell somewhere in the middle.

And there she sat.

* * *

Diego, when she had finally reached him, had been less than helpful.

**Arrested?**

**Yes..what's that?** She felt a tickle along the bond, the emotion strong enough that even her deadened empathy could sense it. **Is that…are you…are you _laughing_ at me!**

The mental guffahing came louder.

**I don't believe it. Here I am, unjustly incarcerated in a safety deposit box miles below London, and you are _laughing_ at me.**

**I'm…sorry** He tried to get it under control. **It's just…that…well, it's so typically _you_.**

**What on earth is that supposed to mean?**

**Please, Lucy, it was practically predictable.**

**And you call yourself my brother. Fine, fine, I don't need your help. I will just accomplish this whole "escape from prison" thing without you helping me.**

**Escape? Come on Lucy. You never murdered anyone or blew anything up. Once the judge realizes the charges are bunk they'll have to let you go. When is your hearing?**

**I don't have one.**

**Don't be ridiculous. Everyone gets one. I'm fairly certain even Ted Bundy got one. It's the law.**

**And this is a _bank_. I haven't even asked about a trial yet. Makes me wonder if I've been deposited into a checking account or a _savings_ account.**

**Let's hope it's not a CD or a 401k.**

**Oh god…**

**Sorry, sorry. I didn't mean it. Are you OK? Do they feed you and stuff?**

Lucy eyed the bowl of what resembled puppy chow with spinach that had appeared on a tray in front of her door. She was not yet desperate enough to taste it.

**They feed us stuff. That's the best I can describe it.**

**But you're ok?**

**Grey is not my color.**

**You'll survive. We'll come get you. What about a gate?**

**Too risky. I can't even figure out where _I_ am with any precision, this place is humming with really strong magic- I can't get an anchor grip, not yet.**

**But you might eventually?**

**I think so- find a weak point, or understand the pulse patterns so that it doesn't keep knocking me off the lines, which are buried way deep and don't follow and kind of natural flow patterns- it's like trying to undo a knotted ball of dental floss the size of a watermelon. Besides, if I don't want to end up here again I can't leave until I find out who wanted me here in the first place.**

**What exactly are they charging you with again?**

Lucy gave him the list.

**For Christ's sake Lucy, what did you _do_?**

**That's what I need to find out. In the meantime, I need you to look out for Lynx for me. And you have to take care of my little job for Durmstrang.**

**Those people give me the creeps.**

**You'll live. Oh, and Diego?**

**Yes Lucy?**

**Maybe you could rent "The Rock" again, and take a few notes? Just in case.**

* * *

The next morning Lucy continued her protest through spirituals. As many as she could remember, out of tune (which was the only way she could sing) and as loud as she could go. The sound echoed of the walls of cell block 24601-D. She was well into the fourth verse of "Soon I will be done with the troubles of the world," when she was interrupted.

"Oy- 3E- do us a favor an shut it, will ya? I've got the mother of all migraines and while I respect your sentiment- my head just isn't up to fighting the good fight his morning."

"Who is that?"

"3D- the cell to your right."

"Did Ghandi stop when he got a headache, 3D? Did Mandela? These are spirituals, the songs of the enslaved, the oppressed, and the wrongfully persecuted."

"Is that why you're persecutin' us wiv 'em?" Came a shout from farther away.

"Oy- Filbert- we 'ave a lady present, try and be a gentleman."

"She don't sound like a lady, Trafford."

"Harpy more like."

"Well, that is the idea," Lucy grumbled.

"What? Torture?"

"Well, not you, that's a sort of side effect, I guess," Lucy sighed. "I just wanted to keep the attention of the guard, or whatever is out there, so they get tired of me and let me out."

"61213" Came the deep booming voice of the ward matron.

"Time to go?" Lucy scrambled to her feet, and stood on tiptoe at the door, which brought her eyes just barely level with the bottom of the small window set into the stone. The view was soon full of the weathered face of the matron. She frowned down at the small girl in the cell, and pitied her.

But pity didn't take away the headache, and she simply couldn't take another verse.

"Time to be silent." She snapped. "Or I will place you in solitary. Which is at the bottom of a shaft so deep that no one will hear you no matter how loud you screech."

Lucy decided that was enough for one day, and spent the rest of the morning and the entire afternoon trying to find something in her cell that she could use to dig.

* * *

She began again the following morning. A rousing rendition of "When the Saints Come Marching In."

They let her carry on for an entire hour before a warning, "61213," from matron caused Lucy to groan and flop back onto her cot.

"Why do you keep it up?" Came the voice from 3D.

"What else am I to do? I have to believe I'll get out of here."

There were some snorts, some laughs, and a few sighs.

"No one gets out of 'ere, lass. This ward is fer people who don't exist." Came a voice from across the way.

"You don't know that."

"Actually, I do," came 3D again, "I used to work here."

"What! Who are you?"

"No names. That's the first rule of the block."

"But you have names- I heard a Filbert and a Trafford."

"Those aren't their real names, lass."

"A little less talking in there!" Came the bellow of the warden. And they said nothing else for the rest of the afternoon.

She didn't like the silence. As the child of one active school followed by another, Lucy was unaccustomed to long periods of silence that were not designated parts of her training. Diego had told her he would contact her when he had word, but there was nothing yet.

That night Lucy cried into her pillow, and she thought she could heard the soft humming of "When the Saints Come Marching In" coming from the cell next door before she fell asleep.

"If those aren't you're real names," Lucy said one afternoon, several days later, after she had been joined by a few inmates on the second level in her morning spiritual, "Whose are they?"

"Codes names, Trafford insisted on them." Came the answer from Filbert

"Why?"

"Because- it's like we told you. People get put in here who aren't supposed to exist. This is where you go when someone wants you disappeared. If they hear us talking to each other with our real names- that's a dozen people who know what they want kept secret, and then they have to find a way to silence us. We'd rather they have no reason to do that. Understand?"

"So you use made up names?"

"Yup. Come to think of it, we need to give you one."

"I don't get to pick?"

"Of course not," Trafford interjected, "now where are you from?"

"New Mexico."

"That won't work. Where were you born?"

"Queens."

"Huh?"

"New York."

"That won't work either Trafford- they haven't got a team!" Shouted Filbert.

"We'll give her an empty one then. Which of thems that's left has the smallest wizarding population? Dell?"

A voice from far below shouted back. "Wolverhampton."

"Really?"

"There was a monastery established there eons ago and the monks were too damn nosy for their own good. Wizards have been giving it a wide berth for the past 1400 years. Besides, it's in the _Midlands_," Dell's voice dripped with distaste, "highly unlikely that any new inmates will come from thereabouts."

"Alright then 3E- you are now Molineux."

"I'm Molly who?"

"Molineux."

"Why?"

"Because we have to save the other stadiums for wizards that might actually be from those cities."

This was turning out to be one of the oddest conversations Lucy had ever had, and that was saying something.

"Stadiums?"

"Why don't you let the fellows introduce themselves?"

There was some grumbling.

Trafford sounded a bit unsure, "OK, maybe not just now, you'll get to know them in time. The fact is, everyone's code-named after the football stadium in the city nearest to where they live."

"Why football, exactly?"

"Because we have a lot of time on our hands Molineux. And just accept it before he gets going on league tables." Came a grumble from below.

"That's Fratton, he's from Portsmouth." This seemed to be all the explanation necessary for Fratton's disagreeableness.

The loud clanging sound indicated that Matron was coming on the block. There was no more talk that day.

It was about this time that Lucy and her neighbor had discovered a small chink in the mortar dividing their cells, and that if both laid down with their heads near the floor, they could continue speaking without being heard. The conversation would drift, they would pause when matron was inspecting them, as not to arose suspicions, and pick up the thread of their discussion after several hours of silence. As with most new habits, after a day or so the strange rhythm of their communications seemed natural enough that they thought little of it. Prison does strange things.

"Are you muggle-born then, Trafford?" Lucy asked one evening, when the block had been closed for the night and all lights extinguished.

"Of course. My mum was a witch, but she died when I was quite young."

"I'm sorry."

"Oh, that's alright. It hit dad hard, I can tell you. And then when I left for school, he got a bit low. But football, that was something we both loved and understood. He never understood the magic, not really, but when we were down at the pub watching a match, his friends never looked at me any different than the other lads, and he liked that. So I kept up. Still keep up more with the football than the Quidditch, which they never understood at work."

Lucy remembered the earlier thread of the conversation and pounced. "You _worked_ here?"

"Yup."

"What _is_ this place?"

"The prisons always been here, since back before anyone can remember, really. But it hadn't been used since Azkaban was built- I mean, why pay a staff when those monsters'll work for free…or, for, you know, other things…. Ministry of Corrections used this place a little bit about 16 years ago- to hold suspected Death Eaters until they could be interrogated by the Wizengamut. There's another entrance, you know, through the Ministry, no one ever knew about the Gringotts entrance, or that the holding cells were a part of the bank system of vaults until after Azkaban fell. Then it falls, and everyone is fretting about the security risks of bringing in and holding suspects in the Ministry- proximity to the Department of Mysteries and all that- and then the goblins, cool as you please, remark that prisoners could be stored in their vaults, provided they were deposited in a quiet manner that won't disturb customers. I mean, imagine if the general public got wind that mass murderers were being stored in the bank, business would plummet. So that's how they decided on the Mirandus Charm."

"Is that what kept me from talking? I thought I'd been Imperioused."

"It keeps you from struggling and running and all manner of distracting behavior. But you weren't under the Imperious Curse, just a step above it. Enough to make the arresting agents and their suspects look like ordinary customers going into a vault. The real violent ones get knocked unconscious and deposited through the bank branch at the Ministry. But there's usually a line over there, and the agents hate to wait.

"It's a good system, really. No one, not even the warden, knows exactly where we are, we could be halfway to Scotland. The goblins never release maps of their vault system."

"Why not?"

"Goblins are suspicious creatures. That's why wizards had to invent Mirandus. The vault system is threaded through with some very strong wards, and the most powerful prevents the casting of any of the Unforgivable Curses."

"I thought goblins couldn't use wands, wizards won't let them."

"And it supremely pissed them off, I'll tell you. But, just as house elves found a way, goblins bargained with some creature, discovered some runic combination, or some such cleverness, to protect themselves from wizards while in their own domain. It's not perfect, I mean, there are a lot of ways for a wizard to kill you without using any of those three curses. If anything, it pisses off the wizards, and that's enough for the goblins."

"So what was your job?"

"I used to work out front-registration and inmate processing."

"What happened?"

"Beats me. One day I'm at work, everything is fine, then I come back from lunch and end up processing myself."

"They must have charged you with something."

"Puce and Salmon."

"Huh?"

"Sorry- shop talk. Puce band is for larceny, and salmon colored bands are for espionage."

"Really? You were a spy?"

"Nope. I _was_ a thief. Pretty good one too, until I lifted that crystal divining rod-I should have known it was hot merchandise- I mean the guy we processed with it clearly hadn't paid for it- and I had taken it from his personal effects box before I sealed it. Until that incident I had done pretty well. Anyway, I had a colleague fence it for me and we were going to spilt the profits, but he must have gotten greedy and turned me in because the next day I ended up in here."

"But you weren't a spy?"

"Merlin's garters, no! I mean, listen to me chatter. Do I sound discrete enough to be any good in that line of work? A con man maybe, but a spy? I wouldn't last 3 hours- I ruined my own mother's surprise birthday party- and I was the one organizing it! No, that charge was made up. The way I figure it, someone in the office is a spy that slipped up, got noticed, but then I go and try to hock a stolen treasure with a low down dirty cheat of a partner and suddenly it's easy to pass me off as a thief _and_ the spy."

"Unlucky."

"You're telling me. So Molineux, what are you in for?"

Lucy looked at her arm and sighed. Despite his minor criminal tendencies, she kind of liked her neighbor. He was the only one she had to talk to. But no one ever reacted to her multicolored jewelry well.

"I'd rather not say. Besides, I didn't do any of it, at least I don't think I did."

"If you had, you'd be the only guilty person in Gringotts, except for me that is, and I'm really only half guilty. Come one, the last chap in your cell was an ax murderer, and he turned out to be a pretty funny guy."

"What happened to him?"

"No idea, one day he was just gone. Happens a lot around here."

"Very comforting."

"Don't change the subject, give us your colors."

"If you insist. Two purple, two orange, a green, a red, a pink, and a light blue."

Trafford whistled. "Been busy, have you?"

"Apparently. And here I thought that getting expelled was going to be my biggest problem this week."

"Expelled- like from Hogwarts?"

"This time last week I was worried about exams."

"If you managed to commit two purples, two oranges and a blue, let alone a _pink_, on top of getting expelled, you would be the most efficient criminal mastermind that I have ever come across, and I've processed my fair share."

"Just call me Don Corleone."

"No, you're Molineux. Or we could call you a Wulfrunian, since you seem to have such an _appetite_ for destruction, very wolf-like. You're sure you're not from Wolverhampton?"

"Positive. Never heard of them."

"The Wolverhampton Wanderers are a respectable team."

"Are they doing well?"

"Not at the moment. But you know, the city motto?"

"No?"

"Dell! Muggle motto of the city of Wolverhampton!"

"_Ex tenebris lux._ Out of darkness, cometh light."

"Dell used to be a professor of Muggle Studies, with a particular emphasis on the civic culture of British Muggles. He's full of stuff like that. He was planning a course on Big Brother before he was arrested. But you see, if that isn't a motto for rising from difficulty and beating the odds, I don't know what is."

"So you're saying they could be champions?"

"It said cometh _light_, not cometh _miracle_. But, they could still place well."

"So, what's the light level like right now? For me? How long until I get out of here?"

"I really couldn't say."

"How long have you been here?"

"At the desk- 3 years. In this cell, about eight months."

"You certainly seem in good spirits."

"Well, I'm used to the place. Being in here is kind of like taking a nap at work and letting the boys run the office, only now I never leave. And frankly, given the rate that people are dying out there, I'll take my chances on the inside. It's a whole lot safer."

Easy for him to say, thought Lucy. Old Trafford wasn't being charged with murder.

* * *

"She's _where?"_ Bet sat down hard, the mirror gripped in her hands, staring in disbelief at Diego's face.

"We have no idea, exactly, only that she was put in through the bank."

"That's no good, those vaults could reach halfway to Hogwarts," Magnus gestured wildly with a drumstick, only just missing Agatha's eye.

"No, what's worse is no one's ever heard of this prison. So trying to get her released without busting her out is going to be near-impossible," Rasheph pointed out, leaning over the back of the sofa and watching Diego over Bet's shoulder.

"We're working on it. I'm actually ringing to check on Lynx."

"He's stable. But his head is giving him fits. Madame Pomfry keeps giving him some potion that more or less knocks him out, it's the only relief he gets."

"Probably burned himself raw- that'll heal on it's own, but it's not pleasant. Try and keep him calm, shielded, and in bed until break- just a few more days. Then we can get him to the experts without too much fuss."

Bet looked at Rasheph. "What do we tell him about Lucy?"

"I wouldn't tell him anything until we get him here. She's fine- albeit bored out of her mind and incarcerated with no just cause- but it wasn't his fault. Hopefully by the time you get here she'll be home and can tell Lynx the whole story herself."

Agatha leaned in. "How is she?"

Diego ran a hand through his hair, and pondered lying. But these were Lucy's students, and her friends, the few people at school she trusted absolutely. So, the truth. "She's trying not to let me know that she's scared. But she's really scared. No one has ever been released from this place. But people do tend to disappear. We're looking into the legal channels but…"

"What about a realistic way of getting her out?" Rasheph asked.

"We're looking into those too."

* * *

When the Hogwarts Express arrived in King's Cross, Diego met the train for the second time in his life. Except that this time he was flanked by four members of the Maintainers, the closest thing their Circle had to police, and his sister wasn't going to be greeting him.

Lynx was helped off the train by Rasheph and Bet. Agatha and Magnus were staying at school for the holidays, along with an overwhelming majority of the student body.

Diego led the Maintainers over, where two quickly shielded and gathered up Lynx, bearing him away.

"Wait-" Bet said as Lynx's trunk was whisked away.

Virgil put a hand on her shoulder. "They need to get him back as fast as possible. I need you two to show us around a bit."

Rasheph raised an eyebrow. "Around?"

Bet looked from Diego to the other two tall men flanking him. "Anywhere in particular?"

Virgil checked his watch. "Let's start with this bank."

* * *

"You're being paranoid."

"No."

"OK, you're being touchy."

"I don't think so."

"Kasmierez, you seem awfully put out that you haven't received word from a girl you only met once."

"For all we know Hogwarts has been bombed back to the Stone Age. Don't you care?"

Kostya raised an eyebrow at the uncharacteristic outburst from his normally monosyllabic friend. Boris rarely spoke out in such a manner. He decided to respond with a typical, terse, Boris reply.

"That is highly unlikely."

Boris was still agitated.

"It's never been so long."

"If Hogwarts had been bombed back to the stone age, Annushka would have told us. A letter arrived from Beauxbatons just this evening. What is more likely to have occurred is three weeks of nothing, and no reason to report."

"What makes you think that Beauxbatons would have any means of knowing?"

Kostya paused, flummoxed. "I don't know. But I might be slightly inebriated."

Boris couldn't fight the smile at his friends flushed face, "You did call her her Annushka again."

"Damn it."

Boris and Kostya were the only two seventh years awake – the rest had succumbed to the celebration of the successful aging of a remarkable barrel of home-brewed spirits and were in various stages of unconsciousness.

A gust of wind alerted them that the trapdoor to the roof was open. They were on their feet before Anna descended the ladder hewn into the side of the bookshelf.

"You shouldn't have been up there at this hour." Kostya lowered his wand and draped a throw, warm from the fire, around her shoulders.

"I had permission. And I needed to read the latest from Odette."

"Has Hogwarts burned down?" Kostya winked at Boris.

Anna looked from one boy to the other and decided she didn't want to know. "Not that I'm aware of. Oh, but your mail might be delayed until you can get Vasily to find the new girl."

"New girl?" Boris asked.

Anna flicked her hair behind her ears as she plopped inelegantly down in front of the fire.

"Yes, apparently the girl, Lucy isn't it, the small one, she was expelled. Some girl named Svetlana Kornakovitch is your new contact."

Kostya nearly choked on his water. "Expelled? What could she have possibly done?"

Anna tilted her head and examined Kostya's face. "How much of the home brew did you sample, Constantine?"

"Just enough. Don't change the subject, did Odette know anything else?"

"Yes, apparently the Hogwarts girl who writes to Beauxbatons is good friends with Lucy. There weren't many witnesses, but the understanding is that she tried to either kill a student outright or burn down a room with a student inside, possibly both." She cast a glance at Boris. "Did you get any hint of a homicidal rage about her?"

"Only towards the potions professor."

"Well, he _is_ apparently the reason she was expelled and not given a lesser sentence. The deputy headmistress has been gone for weeks and he was acting headmaster at the time."

"Can I read that?" Boris held out his hand for Odette's latest missive.

Anna shrugged, reached into her pocket for the parchment and handed it over. "Go ahead. There isn't much else. The negotiations with the vampire covens do not appear to be going terribly well. But I think the back-up plan that Odette never really talks about has fallen into place."

"Really? How did they make contact?"

Boris left Anna and Kostya to discuss the hypothetical plans of the Beauxbatons as he moved to the far end of the room to read Odette's letter. Something wasn't right about all of this.

* * *

Lucy, Old Trafford, and several of her new prison friends were in the middle of their morning protest song when the bloated, slightly misshapen face of the matron appeared in the tiny window of her cell door.

"On your feet, 61213."

Lucy should have felt relieved, but after three weeks of jail, she had learned two things that never, ever happened here. You never got a hearing, and if you left your cell, you never came back.

She scambled back against the far wall. "I'm sorry- we'll shut up, there was only one verse left anyway!"

The door to her cell opened, and the matron, rolling her eyes, had Lucy marching out of her cell with a flick of her wand.

Lucy really hated Mirandus.

It wasn't a full spell as she still had the power of speech. "Manny!" She called out as she was led away.

"Oy! Where are you taking 'er?"

Matron said nothing as she marched Lucy down the stairs and out the cell block. The raucous sound of the cell block carrying the morning song on accompanied her steps.

"_When Israel was in Egypt's land, let my people-"_

And then the door slammed shut.

They were led out into receiving, and down a corridor opposite that which led to the cell block. After passing more beige colored doors than she could count, Matron opened a large door, with runes engraved all around the frame. Inside was a table, two chairs, and a large mirror. It reminded Lucy of Law and Order, except the mirror had a fancy gilt frame and the table looked ancient, and round.

"Sit," the matron indicated. "And don't cause a fuss or I'll Mirandize you again."

With that she left and shut the door.

Lucy had barely a moment to ponder this new development when a door on the opposite wall opened, and in walked possibly the last person she ever expected to see.

'Warren?" She sat, dumbfound.

The tall Aussie, whose blond hair was sticking out from under an old fashioned barrister's wig, was dressed in formal robes, carrying a briefcase and a smile.

"Hello Lucy."

She wasn't sure if she was allowed, but Lucy nearly knocked over the bench in her attempt to hug him.

"Easy girl," he chuckled, patting her on the back and leading her to a chair, "it's going to be all right now."

"How did you know I was here? Trafford said I was disappeared."

"Who?"

"He's in the cell next to mine, used to work here and everything. He says people never get trials."

"Most people don't have a means of communicating with the outside world, either."

"Diego?" Diego, she was almost positive, had never met Warren.

"I ran into your brother and a few of your friends in the Ally a few days ago. Not many people in that part of town nowadays. They told me what happened. I'm clerking for Abernathy & Smythe, when I asked Abernathy about where they were keeping people prisoners now, and gave him the details of your case, he got very excited."

"Excited?"

"Well, you have to understand, he's had his suspicions that some really terrible things were being done in the name of security by the Ministry, but up until now no one had cause to question it."

"And you had cause?"

"We had witnesses." Warren grinned.

Lucy waited for an explanation.

"Diego interviewed Fred and George Weasley- who remember seeing you on the morning of your arrest being led away from their shop by two Ministry men. And, due to a recent spate of violence, they had that part of the shop under surveillance- something ridiculous about "extendable eyes", but they have documented proof of your arrest."

Lucy held out her left arm, bracelets clinking, "That isn't proof enough?"

Warren shook her head. "Lucy, up until now, people have always disappeared in a way that could never be traced back to the Ministry. And since no names are on the files in this place, no one could ever be traced here. They were banking, no pun intended, on the fact that you were a loner, who had few friends and that it was highly unlikely anyone who happened to see them would remember you. But they messed up, you see? They can't pretend you don't' exist, because we have images of two of their agents taking you into custody. They have to process you."

Lucy looked up warily, "When you say 'process', what exactly do you mean?"

"They have to arraign you and there has to be a trial."

"So I could still end up back in the bank."

"Lucy, the charges against you are preposterous. And Abernathy is the best in the city- he's going to represent you for free."

"So, I could get out?"

Warren grinned and squeezed her hand. "Trust me, they'll be so terrified I'm guessing they'll drop most of the charges."

"When do we start, come to think of it, what day is it?" Lucy smiled for the first time in weeks.

Warren smiled sadly. "It's Christmas Eve, Luce. The court is out for recess, so the soonest we could get a hearing and bail set would be after the 1st of the year."

"Happy New Year to me."

Warren pulled a chocolate bar out of his robes. "It's not much, but it's all I could smuggle past the goblins. Eat it quick before someone sees."

Warren's eyes widened at the speed with which Lucy devoured the bar.

"Don't eat the wrapper. I'll bring you another one on New Years."

Lucy looked up, her gaze wary again. "You can't come before that? Can Diego come visit?"

Warren shook his head. "Counsel only. And you won't believe what Abernathy had to do just to get you brought up here."

"Up where?"

"You're in the sub basement interrogation room of the Auror Training Facility. They won't let any of us near the Vault. The door," Warren gestured to the heavily runed door Lucy had come through, "it moved you farther than you think."

There came a knock from Warren's door.

"That's the one minute warning. I'll see in New Years Lucy, I promise."

"Warren- what about the others? I'm in a cell block full of people who no ones knows about."

"Let's just work on getting you out."

"You know no one uses their real names in there because people do disappear?"

Warren was silent.

"People are just gone from their cells. So I can't tell you anyone elses name. But there's a guy in the cell next to mine, muggle born, and he used to work in the prison system- in registration, and he would have gone missing from his family about eight months ago. If you can find out his name, maybe you can help him. And I bet he knows a lot of names."

Warren sighed, "Lucy-"

Lucy leaned towards him, her eyes wide and earnest.

"I can't go back in there and tell them I'm the only one that might get out. They've been so nice- well all except Fratton, but he's from Portsmouth…" She bit her lip, "Don't make me tell them that, please?"

Warren ran a hand through his hair, knocking his wig askew. "We'll look into it."

The door on Warren's side opened. "I'll be back in a week."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

* * *

New Years revelers packed the streets of the normally quiet neighborhood atop a hill in Istanbul. Quiet sidewalk cafes burst with people, the air filled with the steady beat of techno music.

From the rooftop of what was, to the rest of the world, the monastery of a strict order of monks, Bet, Rasheph and Lynx sat on cushions and positioned themselves for the fireworks display. It was the first time Lynx had been allowed outside since they arrived.

"He looks better," Zahara commented, as she followed Diego's gaze from their corner of the rooftop to the trio of Hogwarts students, looking very pale against the assembled horde of Turkish medics and healers.

"He'll be back in time for term, with no one the wiser, just like Lucy planned," Diego shrugged.

"You talked with her today?"

"Just before dinner- she expects a visit from Warren tomorrow."

"Then maybe she'll be out in time for term as well," Zahara said brightly.

"She was expelled, querida."

"I keep forgetting that part."

"Well it does pale in the face of sudden and unfounded incarceration."

Diego turned back to her and grinned. "Did you see her stocking?"

When word had come through that Lucy might be getting out in time for a slightly belated Christmas, Diego had prepared a stocking for her and hung it on the fireplace in the Conservatory Library.

"The fire extinguisher was a nice touch."

"She's going to love it."

"Or she's going to drench you in flame-retardant foam."

"You'd protect me, wouldn't you love?"

"I have always wanted to use one of those things," she smiled at Diego's mock-shock. "But I'd help you wash if off," she grinned devilishly.

Diego chuckled, pulling her back against him, wrapping his arms about her waist, and looking out with her on the crowds below.

He hadn't relaxed this much in days. Between Lynx and Lucy he'd been on constant edge, and now, suddenly, it seemed like everything was going to be ok. He sighed, closed his eyes and breathed in the intoxicatingly familiar smell of Zahara's shampoo. His sister was coming home, together they would find a way to reunite the rest of their family, and he was spending New Year's Eve wrapped around the love of his life; everything was as it should.

Well, almost.

The countdown began in Turkish as he spun Zahara around. She didn't have time to respond before he took her face in his hands, carefully pushed her hair behind her ears and placed his forehead against hers.

"Marry me."

Stunned, Zahara stepped back and looked up at Diego. Fireworks were exploding behind her, but he didn't give them so much as a glance. His gaze never left her face, his eyes burning with intensity, and excitement, and love.

Her throat was tight, her eyes were starting to burn, and she had a terrifying vision of crying in response to the proposal. Instead she wrapped her arms around Diego's neck and pulled his mouth to hers.

Overjoyed, Diego kissed her back, lifting her off her feet and spinning her around before abruptly setting her down and pulling back.

"Hang on- that was a yes, right?" He shouted above the din of the revelers.

Laughing and crying at the same time, the love of Diego's life leapt into his arms, wrapped her legs around his waist and whispered in his ear, "Why don't you just look for yourself."

In less time than it takes to blink, the Empath reached out and Zahara's emotions hit him in a rush.

He sucked in his breath. _"Wow."_

* * *

There were no fireworks that night inside the Vault. Lucy and Trafford sang Old Langsyne and resolved to not be arrested in the New Year. The prisoners each received a cup of sparkling pumpkin juice, after which Trafford began to regale Lucy with stories about his brother, a successful experimental Herbologist.

"Does he make glow in the dark daffodils?"

"No."

"Shame," Lucy yawned. "So, what's his best creation?"

"He was in charge of modifying the species that were used to create the Giant Maze for the last…"

Lucy waited a bit, laying down before calling out. "Last what?"

"Sorry, bit sleepy. Triwizard tournament. Normally, magical mazes are built with SentiShrub or a variety of Boxing Briar. But …sorry, but for the tournament they needed a smarter and more aggressive maze, so my brother made a hybrid using Hades… Hedgerow. Trouble is, which he found out after, it never really…."

"Trafford," Lucy whined, softly, as she was becoming powerfully sleepy.

"…goes to sleep."

"Good idea," Lucy mumbled.

"Terrible, actually, he was too afraid to tell them, but it does keep the grass trimmed automatically…and as long as no one pisses it off…it will all be all right."

Minutes after their New Year's toast, the inmates of Lucy's cell block fell completely silent.

When it came time for morning checks, they were all still asleep in their cells.

With one exception.

Inmate 61213 had disappeared.

* * *

_New Year's Day_

Warren Lane stepped over the prone body of his roommate and into the shower, turning the spray on full. From his position curled around the loo, Preserved Rothschild didn't so much as grunt, but his chest continued to rise and fall in a steady rhythm, so there was no indication that this would be a repeat of the Boxing Day night incident. Not, Warren thought with a smirk, that the student nurses of St. Mungo's would mind- Preserved was a remarkably handsome young man, charming even twenty minutes after having his stomach scoured- but Warren found the paperwork to be excessive, and coming from a barrister's clerk, that was really saying something.

It was probably a very good idea that Wesley and William had opted to stay at Hogwarts for the holidays. Preserved was brilliant, but hardly what Warren's mother would consider a good influence.

He drank to excess, gambled, smoked illegal cigars, regularly brought strange women back to the flat whose names he relied on Warren to remember, stayed out all hours and kept what Warren was fairly certain was a large stash of pornography in the coat closet, on which he had installed a lock.

And then there was the matter of his occupation…

They'd been living together for nearly six months and Warren didn't have the faintest idea what it was. Only that for someone who claimed to be a banker, Preserved knew next to nothing about exchange rates, compound interest, or goblin workplace etiquette.

What Preserved was, however, was a well-read, entirely home-schooled enigma that paid two thirds of their rent and all utilities, including a surprisingly high floo bill for just two people, in cash, on time, every month. He was also neat as a pin, loyal to a fault, spoke five languages, cursed in six more, noticed everything about everyone, and was almost physically incapable of saying no.

That, combined with a deep and abiding love for MacCutcheon's whiskey had contributed to the aforementioned Boxing Day night incident and Preserved's spending the early hours of the new year on their bathroom floor.

He seemed to have relocated by the time Warren had dried off, pulled on slacks and an undershirt and returned to the now vacant bathroom to shave.

"Oy! My coffee better still be there when I get done," he warned. "And don't touch those chocolate bars!"

He grinned as he lathered up. He'd bought Lucy a dozen.

"Ugh …. Warren?" Preserved slurred his words and his voice barely carried into the bathroom over the sound of water hitting the sink.

"Yes?"

"Did I hit anyone last night?"

"No."

"Break anything.?"

"No."

"Steal?"

"No."

"Are either of the girls in my room married?"

"The twins are both single."

"And of age?"

"Barely."

"Oh," Preserved relaxed and took a sip of coffee, "In that case, the two Ministry Agents that just entered the building must be here for you."

"What!"

"Plainclothes, two on the main door, two on the stairs, passing the third floor with a cadence that suggests they aren't stopping on four. That leaves us. And since we've established that I did nothing illegal last night…"

Warren leaned his head out of the bathroom, his face only half shaven. "Are you havin' me on?"

There was a loud pounding on the door. "Warren Lane!"

Preserved winced at the banging, "Told you so, mate. Finish fast I'll stall them."

The banging resumed, Preserved pressed a hand to his throbbing temple and cursed. "You're almost a barrister, doesn't banging on the door at 7 AM New Year's Day constitute a violation of human rights?"

"Wizard law doesn't protect human rights. Go answer it. I'll be right out."

Clad in a purple paisley dressing gown and one black sock, Preserved carried his portion of coffee to the door and asked, "Who is it?"

"Official Ministry business, open the door immediately."

Preserved took a sip of coffee. "I'm sorry, could you show some identification please?"

Warren quickly shaved the right side of his face, listening to Preserved talk to the agents through the flat door.

"A bit higher please, up to the Judas hole- there that's much better."

"Open this door immediately or we will knock it in. We have a warrant to search the premises."

Preserved eyed the locked coat closet. "Like hell you do!"

"Preserved," Warren warned, running out of his room with his shirt on, fighting with the buttons. "Open the door before you are charged with obstruction of justice."

Preserved undid the locks and opened the door with an elegant sweep. "Happy New Year, officers."

"Warren Lane?"

Preserved shook his head as raised his Hollyhead Harpies mug and sipped, pointing to Warren.

Warren shook out his cuffs. "Is there a problem, officer?"

The second agent stepped forward with a scroll. "We have a warrant to search this flat. Please stand over here." The first agent was already sweeping the room.

"Is there anyone else in the flat, Mr. Lane?"

Warren looked at Preserved, who nodded.

"Mr. Rothschild is entertaining a few guests, they are asleep-"

High-pitched feminine screeches could be heard as the first agent swept into Preserved's bedroom and demanded that the two naked women wake up and stand against the wall.

"They were asleep." Warren finished.

"Two females, neither fit the description!" The first agent called from the bedroom as a pair of identical twins wrapped in bed sheets stumbled into the kitchen.

"Officer this is…." Preserved blanked and looked to Warren, who sighed.

"Anna and Hannah Lundtz, Mr. Rothschild's guests."

"Coffee?" Preserved offered his cup absentmindedly to Warren as he pulled a girl under each arm, watching the agents tear apart their flat with increasing anxiety.

"Description," Warren asked. "What description? _Who_ are you looking for?"

"No sign of her in the back, sir."

"Mr. Lane- you're going to need to come down to the Ministry and answer some questions."

"I'm not going anywhere until you explain to me why you have invaded our home," he looked to Preserved, but his bedraggled, hungover flatmate suddenly leaped across the living room after the first agent on a cry of "There's absolutely no need to look in that closet!"

While they argued, the second agent presented Warren the warrant. "It's all in order."

"But _why_?"

The second agent shrugged, "It was considered the most likely place she would run."

Warren stared blankly at the agent.

"Mr. Lane, did you, on December the 24th, visit an inmate in the basement of the Auror training facility?"

"Yes, Lucy Montero."

"You are a part of the legal team that has taken her case?"

"Yes."

"You can understand then why we had probable cause to think you might harbor the fugitive."

Warren spit out his coffee. "The what?"

The agent looked a bit embarrassed. "I thought you would have already been informed. About an hour ago the morning matron found her cell empty. None of the inmates heard anything, but it appears that your client, Lucy Montero, has escaped."


	9. Chapter 9: Day 5, 33, and 36

**Chapter Nine: Day Five, Thirty-Three, and Thirty-Six**

_Give us patience to endure,  
__Keep our hearts serene and pure,  
__Grant us courage, charity,  
__Greater faith, humility,  
__Readiness to own Thy will,  
__Be we free or captive still._

~Margaret Dryburgh (b. 1890 Sunderland, d. 1945 Loebok Lingau camp, Sumatra)

_January 5th_

Bet padded along the hallway of the Istanbul Conservatory in her pajamas, dressing gown, and socks. It was the middle of the night, but that hadn't mattered for days now.

She paused just outside Diego and Zahra's suite. Lynx had fallen asleep sitting against the corridor wall. Again. In fact, she wasn't sure if she'd seen him sleep in his bed since the healers ok'd him to leave it. She shrugged off the pink fluffy dressing gown and laid it over him.

Gripping the phone in her hand, she became much more self-concious about her pjamas when she turned to the door, and saw many more people than usual were inside the room.

Gathered in the sitting room of the suite were the heads of every major guild as well as Virgil's team.

They were standing or sitting around the table, or smoking out the window, all casting frequent glances towards the young man sagged in the corner armchair, a young woman seated on the arm, holding his hand and dabbing his forehead with a cool cloth.

Bet crossed to the one person she knew and held out the phone to Virgil, "It's Warren. He talked to the guards."

Virgil leapt forward and began speaking quickly in a low voice, barking out questions.

Bet kept her eyes on Diego. From a distance he just looked tired, until you noticed that every now and then he would twitch. Not a large twitch, but an involuntary one, the kind that feels bigger than it is, like when you kick out in a dream and your foot moves a tiny bit.

He wasn't in pain, physically, but a look at his face revealed he was in a whole different kind of torment.

Rasheph put an arm around her.

"Nothing?" She asked, as he led her to a couch.

"She's been drugged. Diego's sure of it, Virgil's sure of it, and one of the healers that linked up with Diego's connection to her is sure of it. And it fits with Warren's initial report from the prison that everyone was way too quiet the night she disappeared. Whole cell block got drugged, so no one was awake to hear her get snatched."

"And she hasn't called for help?"

"She's trying to use them but it's like being paralyzed and trying to walk. Best they can figure is a neurotoxin that specifically targets the channels fueling our gifts. They're all numbed and slippery. She can't speak telepathically, and Diego can't listen in, because the channel is effectively shut off."

"So she can't tell us where she is." Bet sighed. "But the connection to Diego-"

"It's an Empathetic link, drugs can't break that."

"Lucy doesn't have Empathy, she told me. Not a drop, never even trained in it."

Rasheph nodded "I asked Zahra about that. She said that wasn't exactly true, but it didn't matter. Diego's the most powerful Empath in the Circle. He can read the ungifted, and he's been able to sense Lucy remotely since she was four."

"But she can't sense him?" Bet shivered. "For all she knows, she's all alone."

Rasheph gave Bet's hand a squeeze, and they watched Diego in silence. He couldn't hear what was being said to Lucy, he couldn't tell what she was saying back. The only things he could sense were that she was terrified and in a great deal of pain.

Bet pulled her eyes away from Diego. She looked out into the hall where Lynx appeared to have nodded off. Still, he'd developed ears like a bat lately, so she whispered her fear to Rasheph.

"There's a reason that all the heads of the Guilds are here, isn't there? And it's not to join the search party."

Rasheph nodded grimly. Bet had always been a clever girl.

He eyed Lynx and leaned in close to her ear. "They came as soon as Diego could confirm that she was being kept in a conscious drugged state, as opposed to being knocked out."

Bet stared into Rasheph's eyes for a moment until the obvious reason came to her.

"They _want_ to talk to her."

"More to the point, they want her to talk. And judging from the pain Diego is vicariously experiencing, Lucy's not cooperating."

Rasheph sighed and leaned back against the couch. "At least, she's not cooperating yet. It's only been 4 days."

* * *

_January 15th_

"There's got to be something we can do."

"Mr. Lane kindly hang that wig up, it is older and has achieved more than you."

"Sorry."

"And if you insist on kicking the furniture might I suggest the desks in the clerks' office, mine happens to be an antique."

"Sorry, it's, er, lovely."

"Are you mad, boy? It's horrendous, but Mrs. Abernathy is very fond of it and I am ridiculously in love with Mrs. Abernathy, so please refrain from kicking her monument to Baroque monstrosity."

"Yes, sir."

Abernathy sighed, and settled himself across the Baroque monstrosity from his youngest clerk.

"This client, Miss Montero, was a friend of yours?"

"We were in the International Society together."

"Ah yes, your little club. She was also a Gryffindor?"

"She _is_ a Gryffindor."

Abernathy sighed. "Warren- I- I don't mean to be cruel but there just isn't a delicate way to say this. In these cases, it's very rare that the person who disappears is ever found again. If they are found, they are always de-"

"It doesn't make any sense. She's not important, not even a particularly good witch. Why go to the trouble of snatching her?"

"Usually victims are taken for ransom-"

"There's been no contact. And Lucy's a scholarship student, so money can't be the object."

"- or because they posses skills that can be of value-"

"My great Aunt Theodora possesses more valuable skills and they wouldn't have to break into a secret prison to seize her."

"- or because they posses knowledge that is of great value."

"She's just a student. What could she possibly know?"

Abernathy sighed. He liked Warren Lane, Merlin knew he didn't want to be the one to explain to him how cruel a place the world was. But he promised all his clerks that he would never lie to them, or withhold vital information, which, to Abernathy, was the same thing as a lie.

"Mr. Lane, all I can tell you is that we should hope for one of the former sets of circumstances, they give your young friend the highest chance of survival. If they are after information, then I promise you, they _will_ get it. And after they do, they will no longer have need of her."

Before Warren could react to the dire prediction, Preserved knocked on the door jamb.

"Hello! Abernathy old man, you look younger every day. Hope I'm not interrupting? I brought breakfast for your serf, since his was so rudely interrupted. Mine too, for that matter." He presented Warren with a thermos of coffee and a bag of cinnamon rolls.

Warren took the lot to his small desk in the corner, on which Preserved planted one hip and helped himself to a cinnamon roll. Warren breathed in the coffee with a sigh. "Thanks mate."

"Well, our new 'suitors' from the Ministry weren't terribly hungry, which _is_ surprising, given the amount of energy they expended trying to locate a 17 year old fugitive under our settee. This being our third early morning _rendezvous_, I felt bound by my superior breeding to buy the poor chaps a meal. How many _more_ times do you think they're going to search the flat? If this keeps up much longer I'm going to have to meet their parents and take them on a mini-break." Preserved shivered, then winced and massaged his temples. "_And _I'm going to have to start scheduling my hangovers in advance."

Not to mention the difficulty he'd endured finding a temporary storage solution for the contents of the coat closet.

"Maybe we should just stop cleaning up, leave everything out like that, it would save them time."

"Well at least my overnight guests have started to find it thrilling rather than terrifying. Having this become a habit could have put a serious crimp in my social calendar."

"Speaking of, I thought you were going to stay home this morning and clean up." Warren raised an eyebrow.

"Anna and Heather are doing it."

"Hannah."

"Heather."

"_Hannah."_

"Really?"

"Did you call her Heather?"

"Yes."

"To her face?"

"Yes."

"And she _still_ agreed to clean up your flat after it was ransacked by Aurors? _Again_?"

Preserved sighed, "Warren, you consistently seem to forget one very salient detail."

'Which is?"

"That, while I may not choose to waste it on _you_, I do have a great deal of charm at my disposal."

* * *

_January 16th_

On a bench in a completely ordinary room of the National Gallery, a pair of perfectly ordinary visitors admired The Execution of Lady Jane Grey.

"You're sure?"

"He was very clear."

"This can't wait for the scheduled Paris rendezvous, someone must leave tonight."

"There's a train leaving in the next hour."

"I'll put one of the musicians on it."

"I can go-"

"Handlers don't leave the city. You can be connected to the source, a messenger can't."

"Fine, but…" there was an awkward pause, "it probably shouldn't be a female agent."

There was another pause, then a groan. "He still encodes the notes in-"

"Yes. Which a girl would have trouble explaining if they were found on her person."

"Agreed. At least it won't be hard setting him up with a job. There's got to be over ten thousand cafes in that city."

There was a pause as they admired the haunting painting, the touching vulnerability of the doomed figure, her fear, the compassion on the face of the priest as he guided her hands to the block she could not see.

Galleries were wonderful places. Comfy benches, an environment where everyone spoke in hushed tones. And completely devoid of wizards.

Wizards hated paintings that didn't move.

"How serious do you think this is?"

"Well, it's not good."

"How not good?"

"Under the circumstances, the sooner that girl dies, the better."

There was a pause and they went back to studying the painting.

"The world is completely fucked up at the moment, isn't it?"

"Seems to be. But I've seen worse." With that the gentleman collected his umbrella, shook his neighbors hand as if they had just met and had an interesting conversation, and left the gallery.

His companion left after contemplating the painting for a further half hour.

* * *

_January 17th_

From one of the most expensive orchestra level seats in the Paris Opera, Darius sighed as the curtain came down for intermission. As the mortals around him swarmed into the lobbies to prattle to each other or into their telephones, he casually strolled forward seven rows and leaned over the orchestra pit.

The musicians had virtually vacated the space to chain smoke at the stage door, but the replacement second violinist remained behind to study the next act.

"Your Mimi has nothing on Cesira Ferrani."

The violinist inclined her head, but did not look up. "She wasn't available, and neither was Toscanini, but I don't hear the audience complaining."

Darius chuckled. "If I had a franc for everything mortals fail to appreciate I could buy this opera house."

"Yes, but you still wouldn't be able to bring back Toscanini."

"Well, not _entirely_ in any case," Darius nodded, crouched down as if he had dropped something, and in the next second was standing behind the violinist in the pit.

"They said it was urgent." He gave the violinist high marks for not flinching.

"The system may be threatened."

"How?"

"The Hogwarts messenger was arrested-"

"We were already informed of that."

"You didn't let me finish." The violinist made a few notes in the score. "She was arrested over a month ago. 17 days ago, she was taken."

Darius froze. "By whom?"

"No sign. No body has been found, no ransom demanded, the only reason to take her-"

"Is for something she can give them." Darius cursed.

"That wasn't French."

"Neither am I. Reports?"

"In your back pocket."

"But I-" Darius reached into his back pocket and pulled out the addendum to the evening's program announcing the substitutions in cast and orchestra. He could feel from the paper that it was encoded.

But he hadn't felt the violinist slip it in.

"I've transcribed, and you should thank me. You wouldn't believe the filth the local agent on scene encodes _his_ messages in."

Darius slipped the paper inside his jacket pocket. "You're good."

She bent over her score as she made a note, but he could hear the smile in her voice. "I have good hands."

"Indeed you do," he raised one to his lips. "I've seen this opera over a thousand times, and you are one of the most eloquent musicians to play this part."

She removed her hand. "You're good too. Most people can't hear me with an entire orchestra playing behind me."

Darius tapped his forehead. "I'm not people- and I caught every note."

She shook her head, smiling. "And I have already been well informed about your reputation."

Darius hissed. "Your conductor is a spoilsport. And frigid."

"Prudent."

"Same thing. Well, mademoiselle, I hope we meet again."

"Can I ask a question?"

"I may not answer, but you may ask."

"What did Ms Ferrani sound like?"

"Imperfect, in a beautiful way that made her seem all the more real, all the more doomed…but it was difficult to hear her at certain key moments."

"Why?"

Darius smiled. "Because I was playing your part at the time and our concertmaster was consistently overzealous with his dramatic crescendos."

The violinist dropped her jaw. And wondered what it meant she could coolly exchange intelligence with an undead undercover agent, but her knees went wobbly at the realization that said undead spy had been a part of the 1896 world premiere of _La bohème_.

She shook her head to clear it. Life and death, she had come here on a matter of great urgency.

"You'll warn them immediately?"

"And say a prayer for the girl's swift demise."

The violinist's blood ran cold. "She's only a child."

"And thousands of children will die if she doesn't, and soon. Believe me, her dying is the _happiest_ outcome."

He gave her hand another brief kiss, and then appeared above her, leaning casually over the railing from the front row of the theater.

"You've seen _La bohème_ over 1000 times?" She called after him.

He looked around, and decided no one listening would believe him anyway, so he answered. "1023, to be precise."

The violinist smiled up at him. "Anyone who watches this story that many times, can't be someone who has much experience with what a happy ending really is."

Darius smiled. "Perhaps you're right. I shall pray that you are, and that I am wrong."

But as he walked out into the night to deliver his news, listening to the rest of the final act in his mind, as it was first preformed so long ago, he also reflected on the fact that no matter how many times he wished Mimi would overcome her disease and live, the story always ended the same way.

* * *

_January 18th_

Kostya looked up from the letter Anna had placed into his hand.

"Well shit."

Anna raised an eyebrow.

"How did they find this out? We've heard nothing from Hogwarts."

"Another one of Odette's sources, I suppose. You know they have more eyes on the outside than we do because they're also monitoring the vampire situation. Seems one of their London sources stumbled upon this by accident."

Kostya sat down heavily on one of the sofas in the seventh year common room. He and Anna were alone, it was early, Boris and Stiva were in charge of supervising PT, and wouldn't be back from leading the morning run until 6:30.

Anna was preparing pots of coffee and cocoa over two of the common room fireplaces in anticipation of their return. She tried to concentrate on the stirring.

"She's dead, isn't she?" She blurted out.

Kostya folded the letter and placed it in his pocket, came over and crouched down next to Anna before the fire. Their knees bumped together as he took her hand.

"Anna, if she isn't dead, she will be. That is not what worries me."

Her eyes flashed. "Kostya how can you be so-"

"I am _angry_ that she was arrested, _angry_ that she was taken, but what _worries_ me is what is happening to her now, what has been happening for the past two and a half weeks. Anna, don't you see that Lucy Montero is not the only one in danger?"

Anna shook her head. "She wouldn't betray us."

Kostya squeezed her hand. "You and I both know that she is going to have very, _very_ little choice."

As if he couldn't stay still anymore, Constantine stood up and began to pace, long strides eating up the distance across the common room far too fast.

Anna watched him pace, scared, and fascinated. He so rarely displayed even the slightest loss of control. Golernishevs didn't lose control, they did the controlling.

"Kostya, what are we going to do now?"

Kostya didn't stop pacing as he flipped through the options.

"Her brother." He decided. "Boris said she left word with the International Society that if she couldn't do it, her brother would be capable. Until we hear otherwise, we carry on as planned. But,"

"But what?"

Kostya sighed. Their fates hung in center of a fragile web and it felt like every day another line was cut.

"Annushka, we have to be _perfect_."

Anna nodded, let out a deep breath, and collected herself as Constantine watched in silent admiration. She looked at the clock.

"They'll be back in two minutes," she turned back to the coffee. "You get to tell Boris."

* * *

_February 2nd_

It was dark. Wherever she was, it was dark. Diego could feel it, physically, like a weight pressing down on his chest. Her chest, their chest.

Lucy had never been afraid of the dark, not even as a child. She'd scared the death out of Antolin and the Espiritu elders by running pell-mell over the rooftop apartments, up and down ladders in the middle of the night. She'd led him through the dark when he was too scared to walk.

Well, she was damn well terrified of it now.

That part was almost worse. The quiet times. They were longer. The physical pain, the agony, that could last for hours, but the moments of quiet terror, when she was alone, in the dark, waiting for whatever it was to come back, those could last for days.

They'd watched a Discovery channel show about this once. How people trapped in caves in complete darkness only lasted a few hours before the sensory deprivation drove them insane.

Lucy had been in the dark for weeks. Even when she wasn't alone, she couldn't see. He could tell by her confusion, her disorientation, her dread.

She hadn't gone mad, yet, she hadn't broken completely. Because of that, he could still be used, his link could be used to try and locate her. He was supposed to be resting now, but he couldn't sit still. In a few hours Virgil would come transport him to London and use him like a human compass. Every day they whittled the radius of her location down smaller and smaller.

But she was fading faster now. The signal he picked up from her was weaker every day.

It was uncertain what, exactly, they were going to recover when they found her.

Without opening his eyes, he felt a new presence in the room- his room, not Lucy's. It was a warm aura, and it sparkled pink, like the nail polish of a 13-year-old girl.

He relaxed. _Zahra_. She hated that her aura glittered like that, was disgusted that it was so girly. Diego thought it was perfect. Vibrant and unabashedly feminine.

Zahra balanced the tray in her arms and eased the door open with her hip. Diego was paler than when she had left him, something she hadn't thought possible.

He was also still pacing the room. The pulse was throbbing at his temple, she could actually see it, and he had the crease across his forehead, the one that always appeared when he was intensely focused on his gifts.

Lucy got the same crease, only it was between her eyebrows.

She sat on the sofa, holding out the plate. "Sit, and eat, before you collapse."

"I'm not hungry,"

He opened his eyes when Zahra snorted, an undignified sound her mother abhorred, and her father had found- did find- endearing.

"Diego Alvarez, I've known you for two years, and never in that time have you refused so much as a fruit snack. Sit down and eat this or I will have Mustafa and Sidi from the med wing come in here and tranq you."

She gave him a Look which Diego took to mean that she still hadn't forgiven him for drugging her tea a few days ago to force _her_ to take a rest. He eyed the sandwich suspiciously.

Zahra rolled her eyes, "No, I did not tranq the damn food. _I'm_ trying to be reasonable- you should try it some time."

Diego took a seat on the couch, leaned his head back and closed his eyes. "I really am sorry about that."

She placed the sandwich quarter in his hand. "Just eat."

Diego chewed mechanically, continued to chew and swallow as she handed him food and sipped when she held a straw to his lips. His eyes stayed closed, and she knew that his head was miles away, someplace dark.

"The scouts just went out," she said, "Virgil and Mercelo think they should be ready to go again in a few hours."

When he had finished and still didn't speak, she placed the tray on the coffee table, pulled a knit throw over his legs, and settled in next to him with a book she was translating for the library.

After awhile, Diego grabbed her hand and squeezed.

He let out a long breath, and his voice shook. "She's scared, so scared, she's never been this afraid of anything in her entire life. All I want to do is pick her up and take her home, and I can't help her."

His eyes opened- bright and blue and burning into hers. "I'm supposed to take care of her. I'm her _brother_."

Zahra dropped her work and pulled Diego back against her, her arms banded around him, holding him still.

"You are taking care of her," she murmured into his ear. "You're helping them find her." Her voice was steady and even.

"She doesn't know it." He shook his head. She was alone, in the dark. "Lucy-" he swallowed hard, "she has no enhanced Empathy. She can't feel mine the way I can sense hers. She doesn't know I'm here, she's all alone."

"She's still conscious, isn't she?"

"Yes, it's quiet now."

"If Lucy didn't think you were there, that you were trying to find her, she would have yanked her consciousness like you both did last Christmas. Do you really think she'd give up on you?"

Diego shook his head.

"So don't you give up on her."

Diego grew quiet, his breathing grew steadier. She needed him to calm down. When things got very bad for Lucy his whole body would respond as if _he_ were the one being hurt. Since no one could persuade him to loosen the connection, he needed to take the rest as it came.

She knew he wouldn't sleep, that he hadn't slept properly in days. She gently scratched his head as he played with the ends of her hair.

At length, he spoke.

"This happened once before, you know. When she was six."

"What?"

"Well, not this exactly. We were in Brazil, I hadn't been assigned a mentor yet and Professor de La Vega had taken us into the Amazon to spend a month with the Lost Schools.

"We hadn't been there a week when the summons came. I don't remember what the Council was meeting for- never found out- but it was an emergency.

"Children were not permitted at the High Council, and we were considered too young to be shifted- Antolin hated the practice himself. But it was a three day journey to get there- so it was decided that we would stay behind in the village, a tiny place in the middle of Amazonas state. He left us with the local shaman, who was a Circle affiliate and an old friend of Antolin's.

"The first night we fell ill. Probably been coming down with it for days, but the fevers started that first night after Antolin left. At least mine started at night. I had malaria, my fever would spike at night. It would come down during the day, at the same time that Lucy, who had yellow fever, would spike her temperature.

"If we had been two normal kids we would have been treated and probably been fine, he was a good shaman. But we were two kids with gifts and shoddy control. When our fevers would spike, our gifts went a little haywire. Lucy's telekinesis would make things fly all over the village. She upset pots, sent flaming pieces of firewood flying through the air, tormented the livestock. And at night, when she would rest, I would start. I was inside everyone's heads, making their worst nightmares seem real, or at least the fear seemed very real. I was so scared."

Zahra squeezed his hand. "How old were you?"

"Nine. The shaman tried his best, but we were too unpredictable. Before he could come up with a solution that wouldn't hurt us, we were run out of the village as demons. They marched us out one morning until we were far enough away that the village goods stopped flying. And they left us. The shaman came with, poor man. I think he intended to take us to Antolin. But he never got the chance.

"That first night, Lucy got up, and she pulled me to my feet. I was sweating and delirious and so scared, but I trusted her. I knew she was there. She told me we had to follow it. I couldn't see anything. But she swore there was a yellow bird and we had to follow it.

"I didn't see any bird. I just followed her.

"We walked all night. Through the jungle, following Lucy's bird. When day came she just sort of stumbled into the roots of a tree and curled up. Her fever would rage all day, and I would rest while she battled it. Then at night she would pull me up and off we'd go."

He stopped playing with the ends of her hair and shook his head.

"Three nights, walking through the Amazon, a pair of delirious kids, we should have been dead.

"But on the morning of the fourth day she suddenly stopped, and she started to cry. I asked her what was wrong, and she said she couldn't find the bird anymore. She just sat down and pulled her knees to her chest and sobbed like she'd lost everything.

"And then I heard the voices. Her crying had woken up a village that the trees were hiding from us. And I look up from where I'm sitting with my arm around her, and there's Professor de La Vega, reaching down to scoop us up.

"I passed out. Woke up a day later in a school in Manauas, hooked up to an IV with Lucy asleep in the bed next to me. Antolin was sitting between us, holding her hand. He asked me how in the name of the Lady we had found him, and I told him about the bird. I asked him what kind of bird that could be.

"He didn't answer, just smiled and kissed her on the forehead.

"The thing was, when Lucy's fever broke and she woke up, really woke up, she didn't remember a thing. Denies it ever happened."

Zahra chuckled at the frustration in his voice.

"S'not funny. She claims I made the whole thing up."

"How annoying."

"She was- is, constantly. Said- says it's her job. That's what little sisters are for."

"She takes the job seriously."

"What about mine?"

Zahra put a hand on either side of his face. "You're doing your job. But you can't keep this up forever, not like this. So you are going to finish eating this lunch, then you are going to sleep for at least three hours straight. And I'm going to see to it that you do. Because that's part of _my_ job. And I take it _very _seriously."

Diego sighed, pulled Zahra in, holding her nestled against his shoulder.

"You're right."

A smile fought to escape the corner of her mouth. "Could you say that again? In like, five minutes- give me a chance to find an audience? Or better yet- a camera?"

"Once was enough. Thank you for that."

"Anytime."

* * *

_February 5th_

Virgil hit the corridor at a dead run. Puck and Tuck were ahead, pushing each door open before he hit it, sprinting past him again and again to open the next set so he never had to slow down. Maintainers could dematerialize, but after coming out of the gate that was deemed too dangerous.

"Call the OR and get it prepped. Rigid abdomen, likely internal bleeding, get plenty of O negative on hand."

"Virg- her hands-"

"We stabilize her first."

As they turned a corner and started up the final hallway towards the medical ward, doors began to fly open. People lined to corridor. At the end of the hall, Diego Alvarez burst out of the library.

Shit, was all Virgil could think. The guy had been hanging on by a thread, but one glance at what Virgil carried in his arms put murder in the man's eyes.

It was a bloody, bruised, broken tangle of a human body. And it had Lucy's face.

Diego lunged forward, but was held back by the gentle touch of the willowy girl behind him. She shook her head, not releasing Diego to follow until Virgil had passed.

"She's alive," Virgil called out as he passed by. He heard the pair following him at a run.

Healers poured out of every doorway as they hit the medical suite. The head trauma healer, Ruya, did a rapid assessment as Virgil carefully placed his burden on the gurney.

Her eyes widened at the extent of the injuries. She snapped orders and Lucy was wheeled in to start the blood transfusion and IV fluids. Ruya hung back to question the Maintainers.

"Did you find anything that would indicate how this happened?"

"There was nothing there, except-"

Virgil cut in before Puck could finish. "The cell was empty of any implements, and we didn't exactly wait around."

"There was a dragon," Tuck added, "but I don't think he was actually involved."

"Was she conscious?"

"Conscious but not lucid. I put her out myself when we were safely away."

"Why?"

"I don't think she knew where she was or who we were, she was struggling, fighting us, and hurting herself."

As Ruya turned to go scrub in, Virgil put a hand on her arm.

"The Guilds are going to want to access her memories soon as she's stable. But if she reacts the same way-"

"She could make things worse," the surgeon sighed.

Ruya ran through her priorities, mentally evaluating the skill of her staff and the extent of the injuries. "Get Diego Alvarez into a surgical gown, he's the only one who's likely to get through to her. And I'm going to need a specialist brought here immediately."

"Homer's team is home on break. He has fresh scouts that can escort him here within the hour."

"Her. Pikea Otago. And make it thirty minutes. And sorry, but I don't have the faintest idea where she is. Could be Tibet, could be Tahiti."

"Someone else?"

"There is no one else. Even without the X-rays, we're looking at bone damage like I've never seen, Pikea is Lucy's best shot."

As Ruya dismissed them to scrub, Puck pulled Virgil aside.

"You didn't tell her about the body."

Virgil nodded, "There's no reason for her to know, there was no trace of Lucy on him, he didn't touch her."

"I was thinking the other way 'round."

"He didn't have a scratch on him, Puck. And Lucy couldn't even stand."

Tuck had joined them, standing to Virgil's other side. He looked at Puck, then at Virgil, they were all thinking the same thing. If gifts had been involved, standing wouldn't be necessary.

"He had blood leaking out his ear." Tuck finally blurted out.

Virgil shook his head. "The neurotoxin, she couldn't use her gifts, and in her state she wouldn't have had enough strength to do that."

"If she was scared enough, she could have."

"Enough!" Virgil snapped. "Look at her!" He flung an arm, stained with blood, toward the windows on the OR doors. Through the portals the team members glimpsed a wall of healers and nurses swarming around the table, calling for more blood, suction, and the crash cart.

They winced as the sounds of Lucy's heart failing, then being restarted echoed faintly along the halls. When a rhythm resumed, Virgil let out a breath, and leaned his head against the wall.

As the healers worked to fix Lucy, Virgil's 1st and 2nd Lieutenants came marching down the hall in double time. Tess and Mercelo looked exhausted and smelled liked smoke.

"Where's Huck?" Tuck inquired after his fellow scout.

"In the Gate room, making sure our energy trail is obscured." Tess pushed back the black hood with distinctive red and yellow trim that identified her to all as a Maintainer. Her tussled blond curls made her look a little less fierce. "How is she?"

"Her heart stopped beating about two minutes ago- but they restarted it."

"Well, according to her brother that thing has never beaten correctly anyway, so maybe the shock will get rid of the arrhythmia."

As Virgil straightened up, his highest ranking officers came to attention.

"The body?" He turned to Mercelo.

"Taken care of." Mercelo said no more, and Virgil didn't ask.

"Witnesses?" He addressed Tess.

Her brown eyes flashed. "We waited as long as we were allowed, but no one came back." Unconsciously, her fingers clenched. Tess may look like a pixie, but she was Virgil's most skilled interrogator.

"Any problems?"

"The dragon may have a bit of indigestion," Tess shrugged.

"And I don't think that Ayşe hanım is going to be able to get the dragon breath out of these robes," Mercelo wrinkled his nose.

Virgil rolled his head towards Puck. "See, nothing to report."

Puck nodded and stayed silent. Virgil could be one scary sonofabitch.

Virgil ran a hand over his scalp. "I'm proud of you." He met the eyes of his team, lingering on Tuck and Puck. "All of you. Now go get some food and go to bed. I'm sending a therapy team over to the barracks in 12 hours."

Puck looked alarmed. "Which one?"

"Bahar hanım's."

"The Spinecracker?"

"She's the best."

"Massage therapy shouldn't be so…painful."

"It's not if you relax."

"You'd be tense too if you were laying powerless under a woman capable of crushing your spine in a single movement and you happened not to have called after the third date."

Tess took charge and ushered the team down the hall. "You could always try flowers…."

Mercelo looked back. "Coming boss?"

Virgil nodded. "In a minute. Victor wants to be briefed as soon as possible.'

Victor was the head of the Guild of Maintainers- Virgil's superior.

Virgil sighed. Whether or not Lucy Montero had killed a man in self-defense was not something that was going in his report to Victor. The fellow was dragon food anyway.

As he glanced about for a gurney to nap on before his boss arrived, the OR doors opened and a figure with a cap of blond hair wearing a set of bloody healers blue scrubs stepped out into the hall, a gray bundle in her arms.

"Virgil?"

He wasn't surprised she knew his name- his team was based out of Istanbul. But he didn't know her- hell she was barely older than Lucy.

"Yes?"

"Diego said you'd know where to find… Warren." She shrugged her shoulders. "I don't even know what that means."

"Warren is- who are you again?"

"Aislan Murphy, from Chadwicks? You came to our memorial service."

"You were one of Ann's healing students?"

"Yes, sir, before I specialized in trauma." She waited expectantly, a little in awe of the giant ebony man.

God he needed to sleep. He forced his brain to process her question. "Diego wants me to tell Warren we've found her, is that it? That can wait until tomorrow-"

Aislan held out the bloody gray bundle in her arms. "Diego said that Warren needed-" she paused, trying to remember the exact phrase, "needed a way to put Lucy at the scene. Proof. This is proof." She held forward an armful of gray.

Virgil paused, then lifted the fabric between two fingers and raised it up. It was a shirt, a filthy, blood stained shirt that flapped open where the healers had obviously cut it off their patient.

Virgil laid it on the floor and brought the two sides together. There over the right breast, was some kind of a seal, above a block lettered "24601-D". He flipped the shirt over, on the back was a number, 61213.

Lucy's number.

He sat back on his heels.

Prison scrubs. They'd kept her in her uniform all this time.

He stared down at the shirt, at the rips and tears and the stains. Damage that had obviously been put there before the healers cut it off- when Lucy was still underneath it. "Diego's seen these?"

"Yes."

Shit. Like the guy hadn't seen enough to give him nightmares for the rest of his natural life.

"He's still in there?"

Aislan shook her head. "They threw him out when she coded the first time. He's in the gallery, waiting to be let back in."

Virgil nodded, carefully gathering the fabric up. "You going back in?"

Aislan nodded. "Marie's assisting the surgeons, and I'm her energy conduit."

He had no idea who Marie was, but nodded his head.

"You tell Diego that I'll take these to Warren myself."

Aislan nodded, but didn't leave right away; she shifted awkwardly from foot to foot.

Virgil rose, raising an eyebrow. "Is there something else?"

Aislan nodded.

"Listen- I haven't slept in two days so-"

"She was conscious- just before she crashed" the Irish girl blurted out.

His head snapped up.

"She's fighting the anesthesia and before we could get her IV in she woke up. It wasn't pretty- by the time Diego got her calm we had started giving her the gas but she made a request of me before she went to sleep."

"And this has to do with me?"

Aislan nodded. "She asked me to do something for her."

Virgil thought of Warren, of his superior, and the diminishing chances for a powernap.

"Well, do it and let's get back to work."

Aislan took a deep breath, crossed the hall to Virgil, placed her hands on his arms as she balanced on her tiptoes- and kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you," she whispered in his ear, before stepping back.

There was a pause before she spoke again.

"When you see Victor, tell him Ruya will let him see her in an hour. Unless…" Aislan shook her head at the possibility. "An hour."

Virgil nodded as the girl returned to the OR. He then quietly slipped into an empty patient room, raised a hand to his cheek, and sobbed.

%o%


	10. Chapter 10: Invictus

**Chapter 10**

**Invictus**

_Out of the night that covers me,  
__Black as the pit from pole to pole,  
__I thank whatever gods may be  
__For my unconquerable soul._

_In the fell clutch of circumstance  
__I have not winced nor cried aloud.  
__Under the bludgeonings of chance  
__My head is bloody, but unbowed._

_Beyond this place of wrath and tears  
__Looms but the Horror of the shade,  
__And yet the menace of the years  
__Finds and shall find me unafraid__._

_It matters not how strait the gate,  
__How charged with punishments the scroll,  
__I am the master of my fate:  
__I am the captain of my soul._

_ ~William Ernest Henley_

The first thing she noticed was that she couldn't open her eyes.

She tried to tamp down on the panic that rolled out of her stomach in waves- an involuntary reaction to awakening in the dark.

She was in the dark.

With that single sickening realization her world collapsed.

She was still in the dark. That hopeful feeling she had been clinging onto vanished, she felt as if she'd been punched in the stomach.

It had been a dream, the whole fevered episode had been nothing but a dream.

She couldn't quite catch her breath.

An inhuman sound, half sob, half moan, escaped her lips.

"I think she's waking up." The voice was female, and soft, and seemed to have come from miles away.

"Lucy. Lucy? Can you hear me?"

It was her brother's voice, hoarse, and close.

So, definitely still hallucinating.

This one was worse than before, even though the last time the apparition appeared she could actually _see_ him, this one felt more real.

She moved her head from side to side. "S'not you. S'not real."

"Lucy, you're safe."

"Not here. Not real." She had to remind herself, and keep reminding herself- because if she didn't it would be that much worse when she was finally lucid. When she really awoke, not to Diego, but to-

"Can we take the bandages off?" The soft voice again.

Why couldn't she at least hallucinate faces? She always had before.

"Her eyes need to adjust gradually, or we risk-"

She didn't know that voice- which meant it might be one of them. Lucy began to thrash.

"No. No, no, please, go away. Please, no…"

"Lucy-" hands held her arms down, keeping her still.

Which was when she started to scream.

The hands released.

"We. Have. To. Let. Her. See. Us." Her brother's voice sounded angry.

"If she keeps this up she'll hurt herself."

There was a pause, the only sounds in the room coming from her own throat- and someone who was softly weeping.

"No halogen or fluorescent lights. I want them off, you can light the fire and bring in some candles, but each flame is screened, she can't have any direct light."

Running feet and shifting furniture and the click of switches. The sound of matches being struck, the smell of paraffin and woodsmoke.

She heard her brother's voice again, hoarse, and broken, in her ear, murmuring in Spanish.

"I'm real, Luce. I'm real I'm REAL. And you know it's true because _if_ I was a figment of your imagination I bet I wouldn't be telling you that you're being a real pain in the ass right now. Now. Calm. Down. No one is going to hurt you."

For some reason, maybe it was because she could smell cinnamon gum on his breath and feel it against her ear that she decided, real or not, she didn't have the energy to fight it anymore. Her limbs stilled, and her breathing slowed.

She heard a sigh of relief. And her brother's voice again.

"Good, that's good Lucita. Now, we are going to take the bandages off your eyes so you can see us, but you can't handle much light, so the room is going to be dim. Just look toward the sound of my voice."

As he spoke, she felt pressure behind her head, heard the rasp of scissors.

"Just cutting the bandage Luce, chill out." Her brother responded as she tensed up.

As hallucinations went, he was fairly bossy.

Her head was gently lifted as a bandage was unwrapped. As it was lifted away, and the world remained dark she let out a shaky sigh. It wasn't real after all.

"Not done yet. You have patches taped over your eyes, like a really unfortunate pirate. Once we lift them off, you can open them."

But she found herself not wanting to wake up. Which, she knew, would happen as soon as the patches were removed and she opened her eyes to the reality of where she really was. She'd rather keep this hallucination forever.

"Don't."

"What was that Luce?"

"Don't do it. You'll go away. Don't go away."

She felt a little tug and a lift as the left eye was uncovered. "No…."

Then, the right.

She kept her eyes shut, squeezed them a little tighter. If she didn't open them, the specters around her wouldn't go away, like when you awoke from a dream but willed yourself back to sleep. If she could just keep her eyes closed…

She felt a hand, achingly gentle, stroke her cheek.

"S'Ok, Lucy, you can wake up now."

She shook her head, whimpered a little.

The hand was still gentle, but the voice was taunting.

"Chicken."

"Diego!" The soft voice scolded.

"Trust me, _querida_."

Lucy took a deep breath. Let it out. She couldn't hang on to a fantasy forever.

On three, then.

"One," she said under her breath.

"Huh?"

"What did she say?"

"Can't tell, Luce?"

"Two," a little stronger.

"Well," the voice seemed baffled, "Her math doesn't appear to have suffered."

The corner of Lucy's mouth quirked up, in the closest thing to a smile she had made in the past 6 weeks. She sighed, leaned her face into her brother's hand.

"I'll miss you," she whispered.

"Three."

She opened her eyes.

She had a blurry impression of the dim outline of a figure in an arm chair before the hand on her left cheek pulled her head over to the right.

Her brother was at her bedside, she could make out his features in the soft glow of light coming up from somewhere on the floor.

He needed to shave.

Ironically, it was that little detail that brought Lucy back to the world; let her accept that she was finally home. In all her hallucinations in the dark, her brother had always been clean-shaven.

Her eyes widened as she looked up at him.

"Diego?" She blinked as tears ran down her cheeks. She made to wipe them away, only to find her hands were heavily bandaged paddles. Diego's response was to pull her into his shoulder, wrapping his arms around her and letting her cry into his shirt.

"I'm here Luce." His voice broke, she couldn't see, but she suspected from the way his shoulders were shaking, that he was crying. "You're safe now."

"I know. You need to shave." Exhausted, Lucy's eyes drifted close.

Her last words, delivered with a joy totally incongruent with their meaning, made Diego raise his eyebrows, looking over Lucy's head and locking eyes with a quietly weeping Zahra across the room.

"I think she said I need a shave."

* * *

Six surgeries later…

"Stop taking my pulse."

Marie released Lucy's wrist, recorded her pulse and blood pressure on the chart and smiled to herself. "That was better- you're only slurring about half your words now."

Lucy blew her a raspberry. "Slur that." She rolled her eyes, then closed them on a sigh.

Marie watched her friend's head droop.

"OK, less talking. More resting."

"Can't rest. Still got stuff to do."

Marie shook her head, leaning a hip on the side of the bed. "Yeah, I heard about that. Your plan. What makes you think it's going to happen?"

"Strategy."

Marie raised her eyebrows. "Honey the last time we played Risk I think you ended up with Greenland."

"S'simpler than that."

"Really? How? Diego wouldn't let them keep you on separate floors- bunked in the ICU for five days. What makes you think he's going to go for this?"

Lucy smiled, and shook her head. "Ice chips?"

Marie tipped a few onto her tongue. Lucy sighed. "Ice _cream_?" she croaked hopefully.

"Not a chance. You have another procedure with Pikea in the morning."

"Hand s'or feet?"

"Both."

"Ouch."

Marie kissed Lucy's forehead. "I know, I'm sorry sweetie, there's really no way to speed this up."

Pikea was a bone specialist who had never seen anything like the damage inflicted on Lucy's left foot and both hands. The calcium in several bones had been replaced with silica, making them incredibly brittle, after they were subsequently shattered the resulting fragments were miniscule. Giving Lucy back the use of her hands was a complicated process- involving Circle healing techniques to restore the bone integrity and practical surgical techniques to reset the bone fragments.

They wouldn't know how much function she would have for at least three weeks. The hands were a long shot, but her foot…it was a mercy the break on her right ankle had been clean. It had been set immediately, and with the extra sessions, was all but healed. But the left- Marie had expected them to amputate it straight away. But Pikea had been a tigress- she'd refused to give up on one so young. And Lucy had agreed to the procedures, lengthy and painful as they were. Of course, her reasoning hadn't made much sense, she'd been heavily medicated and babbling something about Pikea not wasting time on the tiniest toe- that the missing half was her fault.

Marie rolled her shoulders. As a surgical intern she had been standing through almost all of Lucy's surgeries and could do with some rest herself.

At least her eyes were back to normal. Six weeks in total darkness had required a long recovery time, which was made more complicated by Lucy's newly acquired achluophobia. Balancing Lucy's needed to be re-exposed to light very gradually with her compulsive desire to have as many lights on as possible was a tricky situation.

They had compromised with candlelight, firelight, and a pair of incredibly dark sunglasses that Lucy wore 'round the clock when not in surgery. The lenses of the first pair had been entirely opaque, thanks to a quick fix with black nail polish, and they had reduced the opacity a little while increasing the abundant light in the room each day. She was now up to the normal 60 watt bulbs and a pair of extra strong sunglasses with no polish added at all.

Marie chuckled to herself. The wrap-around shades were too big, and made her look like a tiny biker.

As she moved around to add medicine to Lucy's IV her patient suddenly sat up more and tried to swat at her with a bandaged left hand.

"Hey- careful with that-"

"Shhh. Close door. Open window. Quick."

Marie raised an eyebrow, but closed the door to her patient's room, and slid open the window that faced out into the hall.

"You want me to raise the blinds?"

"No. Now shhhh."

Marie watched as Lucy strained her head to hear a conversation coming down the hall. One that paused in front of Lucy's now closed door. She'd probably wanted the window open for Marie's sake- her prolonged lack of sight had resulted in Lucy developing ears like a bat.

"Are you insane?" It was Diego's voice. The young man clearly hadn't noticed that Lucy's window was open.

"No." The calm, soft, and resolved voice was Zahra's.

"You actually agree with her?"

"Yes."

"She'll be-"

"She'll be _safe_. Which she isn't right now. None of us are."

"We have no guarantee she'll be safer there. We don't even know for sure if we _are_ in danger."

"The Guilds seem to know it. Virgil and Homer's teams have relocated over half of the schools that Lucy compromised. You seem to be the only one taking this lightly."

"Nothing's happened."

"Doesn't mean it won't."

"She should come with us."

"She doesn't want to."

"She shouldn't get a say, she can't even climb out of bed."

Marie raised an eyebrow as Lucy gave off a "Hrmph" sound.

"She gets a say _because_ she can't get out of bed."

Lucy grinned.

"If anything happened-"

Zahra's voice was steady and resolved. "If anything happened to us, and I knew you were in danger, there isn't _anything_ I wouldn't do to keep you safe. There isn't _anyone_ I wouldn't compromise."

"_Querida-"_

"And I know you would do anything in your power to keep me from being hurt. Or Lucy."

"That doesn't mean-"

"It means that together we are a far greater danger to everyone else, and each other, than we are apart. And if you really want to keep us both safe you will do as she asks."

There was a long pause. And then a sigh.

"Fine. I'll write the damn letter."

There was the sound of a peck on the cheek, and a deep sigh. "Send it off and then let's go to bed."

As they moved off, Marie looked back at Lucy, who was smiling contentedly and settling back against the pillows.

"Told you Marie, strategy."

* * *

Boris was back on the roof.

Which, given that the wind speed had increased and the temperature dropped to the point where the school's pack of Siberian mudryivolks needed to be brought indoors, may not have been the smartest option. But he did his best thinking outside.

He couldn't stay out long, and not only because he'd loose feeling in his extremities, but also because he needed to drop this latest bomb on Constantine and the Guard so they could approve it as soon as possible.

The outcome of that discussion wasn't as much on his mind as the wording of the request he had just received that would instigate it.

He should have been feeling relief, and he was, but something wasn't right. There was something that whomever wrote the letter, someone other than Lucy, wasn't telling them.

The syntax was polite, stilted, and carried a vaguely aggressive tone that suggested whomever wrote it might be hoping for a rejection.

They wouldn't get one. He wouldn't allow it.

It did nothing to explain where Lucy had been, why she hadn't contacted them herself and why, in the name of God, she would make this request.

All officers within the Rear Guard, the Opolchenie as they were traditionally known, served as custodians and guardians of the student body. No one without top marks in PT, Ethics, and Dark Arts was ever nominated. Within the group, Boris deigned to hold the supremely unmanly post of secretary because, as a man of few words himself, he was an excellent listener, an astute reader of body language, and an unparalleled decipherer of subtext. He hadn't needed to finish reading the second sentence before he'd understood the primary motivation behind the missive.

She was hurt. Badly. And somehow still in danger.

The letter had said nothing of the kind. Had barely mentioned Lucy at all, but that was the only sensible conclusiont to be made from it.

Durmstrang still needed her, safe and at the ready. Made the decision simple really. It didn't explain why he felt as if someone had reached inside his chest and squeezed tight.

He couldn't let Constantine see that. Golernishevs could smell weakness, and while the decision was simple to Boris, that didn't mean it wasn't going to take some work to bring the other Opolchenie around, especially the president. Beneath his gruff and crusty exterior, no one was more protective of the student body than Kostya- he wouldn't endanger them lightly. Any sign that Boris was less than objective would make his job a lot harder.

Which was why Boris was going to stand outside in the snow for another five minutes.

And then he was going to go downstairs and do what he did best.

Sit back, and by saying very little, manage to convince Kostya that not only was this in their best interests, but also basically all his own idea.

* * *

A short time later, a temporarily enhanced arctic tern landed at Puck's feet on the shore of the Kara Sea, just outside the still sleeping settlement of Dikson, the "Arctic's Capital" in the frozen wonderland that was Krasnoyarsk Krai, Russia.

Dropping the bottle of vodka Virgil was never going to hear about and pulling off his glove with his teeth, he thought he would have had more fun waiting in a walk-in freezer. At least there he might find ice cream, or steak.

But, he'd lost the toss with Huck as to which one of them had to deliver Lucy's plan and wait for the response; and there was no way any message was being sent straight to or from the Conservatory, no matter how much Lucy trusted the Russians, they couldn't risk the trace.

Puck picked up the bird, and rapidly decoded the message tied around its ankle with the help of a jeweler's loupe.

He memorized and burned the message as quickly as possible. Before he lost the use of his thumbs.

His last thought before he dematerialized was that Diego was going to be disappointed.

* * *

"What. Time. Is. It."

Zahra looked over and saw Lucy visibly fighting her eyes' attempts to close.

"Not yet 11:30. Don't fight it Lucy, you'll be awake again in five minutes. Rest."

Lucy was asleep before she finished the sentence.

This was not unusual, temporary narcolepsy was a side effect of the chemicals and hormones that built up during the healers' sessions. Given their situation, the healers had been speed-healing, which meant a higher concentration of by-products and a greater frequency of Lucy falling face first into her meals.

She heard Diego chuckle from across the room.

"You know she hates it when you do that."

"It's her own fault. If she stayed here she'd be spared the indignity," Diego smiled over the letter he was writing. "Did you find a flashlight?"

"Yes, it's in the knapsack."

"Is it-"

"Big enough to bludgeon an enemy, yes. Although why you wanted-"

"One can never be too careful." Diego sealed the letter, scrawled the name across the envelope and rummaged in his pockets.

"She's going to be fine." Zahra repacked Lucy's knapsack for the third time.

"I know," Diego was suddenly behind her, taking the pack from her hands and placing it at the foot of Lucy's bed.

She looked down as Diego took her hands. It was almost time for them to leave as well.

"You still haven't told me where we're going."

"I'll tell you once she's gone."

"Right," Zahra leaned back against Diego, her eyes taking in Lucy's arms folded neatly across the blankets.

"You guys are positive you can't get those bracelets off her?"

Before removing Lucy from the prison Virgil and Tess had killed the low level energy signal being emitted by the colorful, but surprisingly durable metal bands that encircled Lucy's wrist. However, they couldn't find anything that cut through the material- it was as if they were made out of stone.

They had no choice but to send her off with them. Knowing what they represented, and what damage they had done, the site of the colorful bands made Diego's flesh crawl.

"Positive. At least we know they can't track her by them."

"They're so cold." Lucy's left arm had goose bumps almost all the time.

"I know," Diego pulled Zahra closer, wrapped his arms around her, and got very quiet and very still.

She knew what happened when he did this, knew where he went in his head, even though she herself couldn't read minds. She didn't need to.

Diego couldn't help it. It would just hit him without warning. He would look at his sister, but he was no longer seeing Lucy. It was Zahra. Zahra in the bed, Zahra with the bands on her wrists. Zahra being separated from him and tossed down in the dark somewhere he could not follow. He loved his sister with all his heart, but the thought of anyone hurting Zahra that way had him momentarily paralyzed.

She turned, putting a hand on his cheek and pulling his gaze down. "Don't do that."

She reached up on her toes to kiss him.

"Do you have any idea how often I wake up to this exact scene? Don't you two have a room? Or some self control?" Lucy smirked.

When she smiled it made the vivid red scars on her cheeks twist in a grotesque fashion, which Diego ignored. He drew a safety pin out of his pocket, crossing to Lucy's bedside.

"It's time."

"I know- what's that?"

Diego was pinning the envelop to her scrub top.

"Care instructions."

"Take it off."

"Do it yourself."

He rose and walked to the open part of the room to begin building the gate.

Lucy glared at him- the safety pin was impossible to manipulate with her hands bound.

"I'm serious. You aren't sending me off with a note pinned to my shirt like a kindergartener."

"Well I'm certainly not sending you without it. You're likely to fall asleep before you can tell them which medications to give you."

Lucy glared at her brother's back with suspicion- she was fairly certain there was more to the note on her shirt than a recap of what was written on each of the bottles of pills Zahra had packed in her knapsack.

Too tired to argue, she let Zahra brush her hair one last time before helping her sit up.

Diego built the gate sturdy and stable. When it came time to set the destination he held on the to lion's share of the energy, and held out a tether for Lucy to link into.

It was the most she'd used of her gifts since she'd returned. She was sweating bullets by the time the destination was set and she handed the tether back to Diego.

A glowing arch of light filled the middle of the room. It was at an angle, so she couldn't see through it, but she caught a glimpse of scrolling on the fireplace, and knew it was placed correctly.

Zahra kissed her on the forehead, than picked up her backpack and tossed it through first.

After a few moments, a paper airplane came flying back through, skittering to the floor at her feet.

"That's the all clear."

Diego placed an arm under her legs and behind her back, carefully lifting his sister and carrying her to the portal.

Somehow, this idea had seemed a lot better when she hadn't realized how far away the floor seemed.

"Maybe I should just scoot through?"

"Not a chance. I don't get to be the only one terrified here."

Lucy's face softened, and she forgot to be scared as she leaned up and kissed her brother's cheek.

"I'll miss you."

Diego held her a little tighter. "I'll miss you too."

She craned her neck to catch Zahra's eye. "Keep an eye on him?"

Zahra smiled, came over and smoothed the hair back from Lucy's face. "Both eyes. I promise."

Lucy felt herself falling asleep. No, this was not a good time.

She heard Zahra's voice as her eyes started closing. "You'd better do it quick before she passes out."

The last thing she saw was amusement in her brother's gaze before her eyes closed again.

"Love. You." She managed.

"I love you too Luce. Now deep breath."

Diego took one as well as he walked to the very edge of the gate, and tossed his sister through.

And all of a sudden, Lucy was ripped very much awake.

She squeezed her eyes shut, holding her breath, because for some reason that made the whole process easier. In what felt like forever but was in fact only a few moments, she was out of the silence.

Her ears were ringing and her eyes still shut tight when she landed in a pair of long strong arms. For a second they were falling back, and she anticipated a collapse that never came.

She opened her eyes- to find herself staring up at a full, red beard. The world tilted right side up again and the head bearing the beard tilted down, until she was looking into the twinkling brown eyes of Stephen Oblonsky.

"Welcome back."

-((()))-


	11. Chapter 11: Stranger in a Strange Land

Chapter 11: Stranger in a Strange Land

_When you walk through a storm  
__Keep your head up high  
__And don't be afraid of the dark  
__At the end of the storm  
__Is a golden sky  
__And the sweet silver song of the lark_

_Walk on, through the wind  
__Walk on, through the rain  
__Though your dreams be tossed and blown  
__Walk on, walk on, with hope in your heart  
__And you'll never walk alone  
_ ~Carousel

Stiva stared down at the cargo in his arms, puzzled. Then he shook it a little.

"Stiva!" Anna scolded. "Gentle with her."

Nonplussed, Stiva shook her again. "I think she's asleep." He lifted his head, meeting Anna's gaze. "She just fell out of a swirling hell vortex- how can she be asleep?"

"It isn't a swirling hell vortex."

"You don't know that. Looked like one to me."

As Lucy's head lolled to one side, his eyes caught sight of an envelope pinned onto her scrub top. He read the name scrawled across the front.

"Boris-" he met his friend's eyes and inclined his head toward this latest discovery.

Boris and Constantine both came around from where they had caught Stiva before he and Lucy toppled backwards into the fire and studied their new guest, and her battered state.

Constantine sucked in his breath. Boris cursed.

Stiva rolled his eyes. "Not _that_, and it's impolite to stare. There's something here addressed to you," he indicated the envelope.

Boris unpinned it from Lucy's scrub top and slowly unfolded the letter.

"What is that?" Anna asked slowly,

Trying to break the tension, and get the rest of them to stop staring at Lucy's face, Stiva piped up brightly, "Maybe she came with instructions?"

"Instructions?"

"You know, 'Don't get wet, Don't feed after midnight', that sort of thing."

"She should wake up in a few minutes," Boris said, not lifting his eyes from the letter.

"How can you tell, does she change color?"

"Temporary narcolepsy."

"You should be familiar with that, Stiva, you get it every time we have double Arithmancy."

"Don't be ridiculous _bahryshnia_. There's nothing 'temporary' about it." Stiva sounded faintly insulted.

While Stiva went on to defend his legendary ability to sleep with his eyes open, Boris quietly opened the backpack Anna was holding, and rifled through until he found the correct bottles. He placed the correct pills in Anna's hand.

"She takes these with food in two hours."

Anna looked at her watch. Nearly five am. "I have PT this morning." She handed the pills back to him. "You do it."

Stiva groaned. "How come he gets to go into your bedroom?"

"Because he hasn't come in with a camera in the dead of night before," Anna snapped back.

"That you know of," Stiva grumbled.

Kostya groaned. "Stiva, give her to Boris, and go wake the fourth years for PT."

Grumbling about missing all the fun parts, Stiva deftly passed a still sleeping Lucy to Boris, straightened his uniform, grabbed his coat, and marched out into the cold to go torture the younger students.

Anna lead the way swiftly into the girls dorm, stopping Constantine at the door.

Kostya raised an eyebrow. "I'm the President of the Opolchenie."

"You changed out the bathroom mirrors for transmitting glasses."

"That was four years ago."

"And yet, the girls unanimously continue to vote down your request for visitiation privileges every year."

Kostya crossed his arms over his chest as Anna led Boris to the far side of the room, to a pallet on the floor.

"Why not one of the empty beds?" Boris looked down at Lucy, who had curled in against his chest, and hesitated putting her on the floor. The girls' dormitory had twin beds lining each wall. In recent years, more and more beds remained empty.

Anna pointed her wand at the empty space under the bed next to Lucy's pallet. The flooring slid back revealing a dark crawl space under the bed.

"You are _not_ putting her down there."

"Not now, but _that_ is the best hiding place for her during checks. In her condition we'd never have time to get her out of bed and into another space. This is my bed, I can slide her out of sight in a heartbeat. She's safest this way."

"She'll freeze."

"The pallet's heated, I am not a complete moron."

"Sounds good t'me." Came a sleepy voice from against his chest. Lucy stirred, and paused. "Glasses- need glasses."

"Check her backpack," Boris suggested.

"You're not Stiva-" Lucy continued to babble. "Stiva smells like cigars."

Anna slipped a pair of large sunglasses over Lucy's eyes. Her head turned up and behind the lenses she blinked rapidly up at Boris. "Oh, hi."

Boris nodded, "Nice shades."

Anna pulled back the sheets, "In you go, Lucy."

Boris set her down with care, and Anna piled on the blankets.

The other seventh year girls had begun to rise at this time. As they peered from their beds at the newcomer, Lucy gave an awkward wave with a bandaged hand. Only to realize they were staring at the man in their room more than the new girl sleeping on the floor.

"I have to go out now," Anna straightened the pillow on her bed and looked pointedly at Boris. "And Boris is going to leave so the rest of the girls can get dressed. Just rest and we'll get you something to eat in a bit."

When Anna looked back, Lucy was already asleep.

"Is she supposed to do that?"

* * *

"I don't want her left alone during the school day."

"You can't stay it will arouse suspicion."

"No, of course not. I have a better idea."

Kostya listened to the plan and raised an eyebrow. "Did you clear this with Anna and the girls?"

"Of course."

"Then it's worth a try. Of course, you may scare the life out of her."

"She never struck me as the breaking kind."

Constantine sighed, "No, I guess she doesn't. You've got fifteen minutes."

Boris entered the girls dormitory. The beds were made up with military precision, trunks gleamed, dressers were bare, everything in perfect order.

Even Lucy's pallet was trim and tidy.

It being "daytime" in the arctic, lights were left burning at the windows, casting shadows on her face as she slept and reflecting off her glasses.

"I'm not asleep, you don't have to walk soft," she said.

Boris nodded. "Hard to tell with the glasses. You didn't wear them last time."

No answer.

He handed her a glass of milk with a straw. "It's time to take your medicine."

Lucy held out her hand.

"Nope, say 'ahh.'"

"I can do it."

"Of course you can. It's faster and neater this way."

After a bit more grumbling Lucy let him drop the pills in her mouth and hold the straw to her lips. By the time he had fed her a small bowl of oatmeal, she was working up a good mad.

"I can feed myself, you know."

"You fall asleep in the middle of meals and forget if you have taken your medicine or not."

Lucy's mouth fell open.

"How-"

Boris waved the envelope in front of her. "You came with instructions."

"You have no idea how much I wish that just one of my fingers was not bandaged at this moment."

Boris chuckled, and glanced at his watch. "Are you allergic to dogs?"

Lucy paused. "Um, no."

"Good. Now, don't yell or scream."

"Why would I-"

Boris simply said in a soft, low, voice. "Dimka."

From down the hall Lucy could heard the padding of very heavy feet.

"Boris…"

"We didn't want to leave you alone during the da-"

"Holy-" Boris's hand clamped over her mouth.

"No yelling."

"-shit," Lucy whispered behind his fingers, staring at what had just entered the room.

"This is Dimka." Boris released Lucy's mouth and gestured to their guest.

"What does that mean, exactly? Maneater? Destroyer?"

"It's a nickname for Dimitri, actually."

"Does this mean sabre-tooth tigers are real?"

"He's not a tiger. He's a mudryvolk."

"A muddy-who?"

"Mudryvolk. Siberian wisewolf. We keep them on the grounds for security, but it got too cold."

"_Them_, as in, there are more?"

"Yes, but the rest of the pack are guarding the younger student dorms. Dimka is the alpha, so he sleeps-"

"With Kostya?"

Boris choked a little. "He sleeps at the foot of my bed."

"Why?"

Boris shrugged. "He likes me. And he's agreed to watch over you during the day."

"His head is bigger than our old TV." Lucy gulped. Why, oh why was nothing ever normal.

"I'm confused, do you think I might steal something? Really? Like this?" Lucy waved her bandaged hand.

Boris shook his head as the enormous wolf dropped to its belly, and scooted forward, Boris lifted his arm above his shoulder so the beast could wiggle himself under it.

"Dimka, Lucy. Lucy, Dimka." Boris looked at the mudryvolk and then at Lucy. "Anna explained what happens if we need to hide you?"

"Under the bed" she managed to hide the shudder by pulling the blanket tighter, then eyed the wolf-beast suspiciously- "he can do that?"

"He's not an ordinary wolf."

That was true. For one thing, she was fairly certain wolves were a lot smaller, and didn't live indoors, ever. She looked into Dimka's eyes, easily the size of her fist, their icy blue standing out against the white and grey fur. She wasn't up to testing if her limited animal mind-speech extended to wizarding wolves, but the gaze that met hers seemed intelligent and calm. She took a deep breath and let it out.

"Ok… just let him know that I'm down to one useable limb, and I really need it."

Something flickered in Boris' gaze, but he hid it with his half smile. "I asked him to help because he's the strongest, and the smartest…and the gentlest."

Lucy nodded, "OK then."

Boris left to make his morning class and Lucy eyed her babysitter.

"Well Cujo, looks like it's just you and me."

* * *

Lucy's first day at Durmstrang passed slowly. She and Dimka stared at each other for a few hours, after which she fell asleep, only to wake up again and start the whole thing over.

The students were on a very tight schedule, which limited the opportunities for anyone to sneak back to the dorm to visit. Anna, who had something akin to prefect privileges, brought her some lunch, and a book, "Russian Level 1."

Lucy tried to put on a polite smile. It wasn't that she didn't appreciate the sentiment, and given that only a handful of students had passable English, she understood the need, but turning pages simply wasn't something she was up to at the moment.

"The pages turn themselves," Anna added on the way out the door. "Just tell them to."

"Spaseeba," Lucy managed, when she looked up, but Anna was already out the door.

The second half of the day passed much more pleasantly. Lucy was fond of languages, and the ability to learn and understand many was, in fact, her only extraordinary talent. She had learned the Cyrllic alphabet by the time the students returned from dinner, and girls tromped back into the dorm to the sound of the book pronouncing words aloud for her.

She caught words that carried the faint traces of disgust, and saw several students making signs to ward off the evil eye, and raised her eyebrow. Varenka, who was meticulously stowing her books in the trunk at the foot of the bed across the room from Anna, shook her head.

"It's not you, Lucy. It's the book. That's an old edition, it's voiced by Karkarov, the old headmaster. The students don't like to hear it."

"Oh. Boris-"

"Was right to give it to you- outside the Opolchenie very few of the students have proficient English skills. You need to learn. But when other students are around, we'll find someone to help you, so you can turn off the auto-dictation, and when you're alone…"

She thought for a moment, flipped open a book she hadn't yet put away, scanned a few pages, and nodded.

She approached Lucy, wand raised.

"Oh man is that ever not my favorite sight-"

"Just stay still."

The sound was like a brisk wind swirling about her, the kind that whistled through the windows and was louder inside than out. It became louder and louder, until the crecendo stopped.

"What did you do?" She looked up.

Varenka cocked her head to one side, then approached Lucy and knelt down next to her. "Sorry, what did you say?"

"What was that?"

"Sound shield. It's a little complicated because usually you imbue doors or rooms or people that you want to silence. But we didn't actually want to silence you, just keep the sounds of your book from the others in the room. It's like a little dome," Varenka patted the air a few feet above Lucy's head, and the image of the room wavered. "Inside it, within a few feet of you, I can hear you fine, but outside of it, you're silenced. Problem solved."

"What if I need help?"

"Dimka isn't affected by it. Or you could move. The dome is centered on your sleeping area, not you. Now," Varenka cocked her head again as she scruntinzed Lucy's wardrobe, "you'll freeze in that. And I didn't see much better in your backpack- don't you have clothes?"

"None that would fit."

Varenka looked her over with that studious gaze of hers, then nodded quickly and efficiently. "Anna, she's the closest in size among the 7th years, and I don't want to raise suspicions asking one of the younger students. They don't know you're here."

She crossed to the trunk at the foot of Anna's bed and removed a crisply folded uniform. "It's too long, but you aren't exactly running about now, are you."

"Fair enough."

Varenka helped her change without a remark as to bruises or scars and a minimum of fuss. Lucy liked that about Varenka, she was practical and straightforward. A little like a female Boris. Except she talked more.

With Lucy now dressed like just another student, Varenka helped her rise to her good foot, and held her steady as she handed her a pair of crutches. "Thought you might appreciate a little independence. You don't need to make it far."

The crutches were battered, but Varenka had installed a hook in the front of each that caught her forearm, allowing her to rest on her elbows.

They were, awkward, of course, but better than being carted around. By the time they reached a sofa, Lucy was sweating and winded.

The room, which boasted five fireplaces, was full of seventh year students, but still far more subdued than the Gryffindor common room.

The Durmstrang students spoke in low tones, huddled over chess boards, or seated around tables playing cards. She noticed several climb the ladder built into the bookcase and disappear out onto the roof. Constantine was leaning against the mantle of the largest fireplace, passing a flask between himself, Stiva, Boris, and Anna. She couldn't hear a word, but Constantine raised an eyebrow at Lucy's entrance, and beckoned Varenka over.

The tension was suffocating.

"Nadya, Dasha," Varenka issued a curt order and two girls abandoned their books to sit on either side of Lucy.

"Lucy Montero, this is Nadya Gabor and Daria Demidova. They need to practice their English, so we hoped you could help each other." She caught Boris' look, nodded, and left Lucy to her new friends to join the meeting.

"Welcome to Durmstrang," Nadya pronounced carefully.

"Sorry about cold," Daria added.

Their English was patchy, but Nadya and Dasha, as Daria was more commonly called, proved to be lively companions. The former, who even Lucy could identify as Romani, had a wicked sense of humor, discernable even across the language barrier, while the latter, the poster-child for blond haired blue-eyed ice queen, was an encyclopedia of Durmstrang gossip. With their new friend catching every fifth word, the pair set about retelling the romantic histories of almost everyone in the room in excruciating detail.

Lucy settled back and hoped she was raising her eyebrows at all the right parts. When the girls had exhausted themselves and momentarily left her to pounce on a late arrival, she began to doubt if she had understood half of what she had heard correctly. Certainly they hadn't meant _five_ hours?

"It's all lies, you know," came a whisper from over her right shoulder. Lucy turned to meet a pair of dark eyes in a swarthy face. Thick, dark eyebrows set against an olive complexion were matched by an equally dark mustache and goatee.

He could have been a pirate, was her first thought. All he needed was a sword.

"Is it?" She managed to answer the question, which had been put to her in heavily accented English.

"Of course. Everyone knows the fifth year girls' bathroom doesn't even _have_ a whirlpool tub."

"Oh, well, that clears that up, then. Thanks for your help….?" She trailed off expectantly.

"Yuri, Yuri Feodurovnia at your service. Mind if I sit down?"

"Please. You speak English well."

"I planned on getting a job abroad, and so was one of the few that actually paid attention in class."

"You have language classes here? SO that's how Kostya learned, I wondered."

"Oh yes, it's a mandatory class here, what with advanced course work and Ministry jobs requiring it. Anyone hoping to work abroad needs to be fluent."

"So, from what I just heard, I take it Nadya and Daria don't really want to go?"

"Oh, of course they do. But they go the other route."

"Other route?"

"Mail-order witches- ow!"

"I heard that," Nadya had returned, bent down to retrieve her book from the sofa, and smacked Yuri in the head again on her way out for good measure.

"They'll send you back! Attitude like that. No at all what those fancy British wizards want in a fourth wife."

Nadya rolled her eyes and gave an expert swivel of her hips. "No man sends me back," she tossed over her shoulder.

Yuri mimed stabbing himself in the heart and fell back against the cushions with a sigh. "She does this to punish me."

"Are you two dating?"

"No, of course not. I'm not Roma, but that girl, she love to tease. Many boys chase, but she never let catch her."

Lucy's eyes wandered over to where her new friend bent over the book with two boys. Nadya seemed to be leaning just a little closer than was necessary.

"And Daria?"

"Oh, they _all_ catch her. Dasha like bicycle- ow!"

"I hear this," Dasha growled, releasing her hold on Yuri's ear and pulling her cloak out from under him, whipping it on and deliberately hitting him in the eye before sauntering off to the roof.

"You certainly have a way with the ladies," Lucy commented dryly.

He sighed. "It is a blessing," he rubbed his ear and blinked his stinging eye, "and a curse."

Boris appeared behind Lucy's right shoulder, leaning over the back of the couch and eying the still-recovering Yuri.

"From the looks of things, I assume Mr. Feodurovnia has been trying to charm you?"

"Well, he has been trying."

"I told you those Uliastaay lines won't work on Western girls," Boris chuckled.

"Well, it was worth a shot," reading the look in Boris' eye, Yuri nodded and rose, joining the group at the main fire about Constantine.

Lucy watched him go as Boris came around the sofa and picked up Yuri's abandoned flagon of chocolate.

"Where's Uliastaay?"

"Northern Mongolia."

"No wonder he wants to work abroad."

"It's not like that. Yura loves his home, there's just no money there."

He held out the flagon, and although Lucy wanted to resist on point of pride, the chocolate smelled too good to resist.

Only a little over a week until the hand guards came off.

"So what's going on over there?" She tilted her head toward Constantine.

"Nothing. They're talking about you."

"I'm flattered."

"Don't be. Notice that none of them look very happy."

"That's true," Lucy chewed on her lip unconsciously, and Boris relented.

"They aren't actually arguing about you. It's more that half want to follow Kostya's new plan, and half want to run, now."

"'New plan?'"

"Kostya thinks we should put off The Plan for a few weeks, give ourselves time to really figure out what the new "faculty" are using us to search for. We would finally have some intelligence to give back to the French on what they are trying to accomplish."

Lucy looked at the resolve on Constantine's face. "He wants to wait."

"Yes. And not everyone likes this plan, so they will have to vote."

"Who will win?"

"Constantine, Golernishevs always win."

"And what do you think should happen?"

Boris's eyes went blank and unreadable as he looked outside at the swirling snow and the icy sea. "I don't know."

He looked tired, she thought. They all did. Even the jokester Yuri had a weariness in his eyes. What had they all been through, she wondered. She'd been imprisoned, but at least then there had been no need to constantly pretend she didn't know about the trap when she was in one. And she'd been by herself, with no ones else inside to worry about. What must it have been like to have the responsibility for an entire school on your shoulders?

"Borja," Stiva, not laughing for once, called in a low voice and gave his friend a knowing look.

"I'd better get back. I came to give you this," he took the black watch cap and pulled it low over Lucy's ears. "They turn the heat down at night and Varenka mentioned you didn't have much cold weather gear."

"Thanks."

Boris smoothed down the rest of her hair before rejoining the group.

* * *

Lucy hobbled back to bed not long after the Opolchenie meeting broke up. Everyone had on serious faces, so it was difficult to tell if Constantine got his way or not. No one told her anything, which was probably more out of the reserved nature of the school than a deliberate slight; they weren't used to having her around. Boris, who had hung back to discuss arrangements for the morning PT with Stiva, caught her eye and gave her a quick nod, which she took to mean his predictions had been right.

For her part, she was happy about it. Hobbling to and from the sofa and her pallet was enough to exhaust her for hours; holding up her part of the bargain would have been an endurance challenge when she was at full strength, it was going to be next to impossible in her current state, so she needed all the time she could get.

If there had been any sunlight that day, she'd slept through it. High noon at this time of year wasn't really more than twilight anyhow, but the student's circadian rhythms were set by sconces at the windows that burned brighter during daylight and gradually dimmed as "night" fell.

Which meant that after Lucy slipped off to sleep on her first night, when Anna returned from her bed checks, and extinguished the last bed lamp, she plunged the room into darkness.

Anna awoke to a dull whining in her ear. She checked her watch, 2 am, not even close to PT time. Disgusted with her body for not letting her sleep, she rolled over and tried to will herself into oblivion.

The whining came again, and she yelped as a cold nose briefly pressed against her leg.

Now fully awake, her heart racing, she pulled the covers off her head and raised her wand.

Her first thought was how had the door to the hall come open? The light from her wand caught a massive form next to her bed and she leaned over to see a mudryvolk laid out on the stone floor between her bed and Lucy's pallet.

Dimka, that white and silver fur could only be Dimka's.

Dimka slept on Boris' bed like a giant space heater, why would he-

She rubbed her eyes, her brain not quiet catching up to what she was seeing. Dimka's ears perked up, alarmed, his head bent over Lucy, gently nuzzling her as she…screamed.

The room was silent, but Lucy was clawing at the air, her eyes open and unseeing, and seemingly-silently screaming herself hoarse.

The sound shield. Damn it, Anna scrambled down from her bed. Dimka wasn't affected by it, so he was the only one in the whole wing who could hear Lucy.

As Anna's head came within the bubble of the sound shield, she winced. It was amazing the rest of the pack wasn't magically tripping locks and coming to his aid with all that racket. Then again, Dimka clearly understood a nightmare when he saw one, and had probably explained to the rest of the mudryvolk as well. Clever boy.

She didn't touch Lucy, but called her name softly.

"Lucy, wake up."

"No, no stop, please stop."

"Lucy, it's Anna. You're safe, you're at Durmstrang, you're having a nightmare, now wake up."

Dimka nuzzled her again, and Lucy paused, inhaled deeply, and stopped struggling.

Anna blinked. Only yesterday morning Lucy had been terrified of the wolf.

Anna gently shook her shoulder, Lucy's gaze sharpened, and she woke up.

She looked from Anna, to Dimka, and dropped her head back on the pillow in disgust. But she didn't let go of Dimka either.

"I'm sorry, damn it, I'm sorry. Did I wake everyone up?"

"Actually, you only woke up Dimka."

"Huh?"

"The rest of us don't have hearing that can pierce a sound shield."

"Well, that's something then."

"Bad dream?"

"Something like that. I forgot."

"Forgot the dream?"

No, never. She'd never forget.

"Forgot to bring a nightlight."

Anna blinked. "Huh?"

Lucy chewed her lip. "It was…dark. Always."

The sad truth dawned on Anna, and she felt a stab of pity, which she tried to hide, as she doubted Lucy would appreciate it.

"Give me a second."

As quietly as she could manage, Anna opened her trunk and removed the neatly folded stacks of cloths and extra cloaks and blankets. Buried at the bottom her hand grazed something smooth and cool, and she emerged with her prize.

She handed Lucy an ornately carved glass bear.

Lucy blinked. "Um, pretty?"

"I was afraid of the dark as a child, and right up through my second year here. Not my fault, mind you, my closet was perpetually boggart-infested and when it wasn't, my brother Ivan would hide in there to scare me, which was worse than the boggart. Actually, at one point it was so bad that my boggart _was_ Ivan...anyway, my father gave me this." She tapped the glass with her wand and the bear glowed from within.

"Wizard night-lite?" Lucy asked.

Anna nodded. "It comes on automatically when it gets dark, and extinguishes itself when it gets light, and-" she cupped the class in her palm, "it never gets too hot."

She placed it next to Lucy's head.

"Thank you," Lucy sighed, released Dimka, and gave his head an affectionate stroke. "Thanks to you too, Cujo."

Dimka looked at the door, then looked back at Lucy.

Lucy shook her head. "Go on, he'll get suspicious if you stay." With a heavy padding of feet, the mudryvolk took itself back across the hall to the boys room, and the foot of Boris' bed.

Lucy rolled over and looked at Anna, who was climbing back into her own bed. "You won't tell anyone, will you?"

"Of course not."

"Thanks Anna."

"Sleep well, Lucy."

* * *

Lucy and Anna's little arrangement remained a private secret between the two of them. Anna, as the student assigned to the 3rd years, was allowed to be out one hour beyond lockdown to supervise extended research hours inside the library. By the time she returned and extinguished the last bed light in the room, no one else was awake to see Lucy's night-light turn on. Anna was also the first to rise in the morning. She never mentioned the incident again, for which Lucy was even more grateful than for the night-light.

By then end of her second week, Lucy had adjusted to the rhythm of Durmstrang life. No matter the weather, no matter the temperature, physical training, PT, took place at an ungodly hour of the morning.

Lucy didn't take part, but she loved PT. If only because it meant all the lights came on.

Whichever students had the morning off would prepare coffee and chocolate for when their frozen companions returned, and someone brought a cup in to her eventually. She wasn't allowed out of the girls room until the dorm was on lockdown, which happened after dinner and was lifted before PT. So in the evenings she would hobble into the main room to eat dinner that had been smuggled up.

She spent her days laying on her pallet next to Dimka, studying an increasing pile of Russian textbooks, the wolf correcting her grammar with a shake of his head. At night she would practice with Nadia and Daria. Yuri mostly wanted to practice English, but was happy to teach her all of the filthy Russian vocabulary not found in her textbooks.

After her hands were freed, he also began teaching her to play Durak and Eralash, two card games that forced her to try and regain some measure of strength and dexterity in her fingers.

That task was especially difficult, as she had discovered two days previously, shortly after Anna and Varenka cut the bindings on the stiff leather paddles, lifted away the frame, and unwrapped her hands.

Theye looked like the hands of an old woman, the joints swollen, and the fingers rigid and crimped, like talons.

She could move them, which was, in itself a miracle. She'd just have to adjust to the fact that they didn't align properly anymore.

For the moment, she assiduously applied the ointment the Istanbul healers had sent with her, and kept her fingers partially hidden in the half gloves that so many of the students wore in the frigid castle.

Boris had figured out what she was doing, naturally, and the next day Yuri had suggested the card games as a way to stave off boredom. But Lucy had spent enough evenings observing the common room to recognize the rather oversize, distinctively old-fashioned deck of cards Yuri produced. It was for Boris' sake that she submitted to the humiliation- for almost every game had to be restarted multiple times when she failed to keep a grasp on her cards and they spilled out onto the table and the floor.

It was hard to tell if she was becoming more skilled at the game, but on a particularly windy evening she was congratulating herself on going ten whole minutes without disaster when the door to the room slammed open, she jerked, spilling all her cards, and swearing creatively, in filthy and fluent Russian.

"Jesus Yuri!" Boris, who had nearly choked on his coffee, pushed back from the sofa arm and wiped off his sweater. "I told you to help her assimilate. Not teach her to swear like a Vladivostock sailior."

Yuri shrugged, and deftly gathered the cards together to re-shuffle the deck. "She wanted to sound authentic, no?"

Lucy grinned. "We have an agreement."

Boris rolled his eyes, "Merlin protect us. Well, watch your mouth around the children." He reached under the sofa, carefully wiped the dust off the purple Fool of Swords, and handed it back, his gaze sliding past Yuri to the doorway.

Anna was back, it was she who had slammed the door open, and she was talking animatedly and clutching a book to her chest.

Yuri followed Boris' gaze, his eyes widening.

"Did she-"

"Take a book out of the library. Impossible. She knows better."

But Boris left them instantly to join Anna, Stiva, Varenka and Constantine on the other side of the room.

Lucy looked back at Yuri, who had stopped shuffling. "Yuri? What's wrong?"

"Huh?"

"I thought students were permitted to look at the books."

"Yes, that's true."

"Then why –"

"We are only allowed to research sanctioned subjects, under close observation. Research was restricted to inside the library over a year ago, so someone could always monitor what we were doing."

A light dawned. "That's why they search the dorms." She'd been forced into the tiny compartment under Anna's bed half a dozen times when the rooms had been searched.

"Yes, well, that and to find the vodka. There's always a still going."

"Why bother?"

"Because it's fuckin' cold, Lucy."

"Not that, you idiot. Why take a book?"

Yuri shook his head. "If Anna removed it, it means she found something she doesn't think we can afford to let them see."

"Will they know?"

"If a book is missing? Yes. Not right away, but when the library closes in an hour, yes, they'll know. Unless she puts it back."

Stiva came back, tossing a cloak to Yuri. "Let's go."

"You never take me anywhere nice, you know that?" Yuri quipped as he pulled on his gloves and hat and followed Stiva up the ladder.

Lucy was left to herself to awkwardly place the cards back in their leather case.

The activity in the room was centered around the large middle table. Students were coming back and forth from the dorms, their hands full of papers.

Anna was nowhere to be seen.

Fifteen minutes later, a snowy Stiva and Yuri climbed back down the bookcase ladder, pulling piles of parchment out from under the protection of their cloaks.

Unable to stand it any longer, Lucy got to her feet, grabbed her crutches, and hobbled over to the table.

To find Boris sitting cross legged in the middle of it. Sewing.

Lucy caught his gaze, looked over the edge of her sunglasses, and raised an eyebrow.

Boris merely shrugged and returned his attention to the parchment, which several students were carefully cutting into long sheafs with delicately ragged edges, these were placed in piles of ten, which Boris folded in half and sewed together with fast, neat stitches.

Anna returned with a thick and stately leather book. Or rather, a book cover, completely devoid of pages.

"Where did you put them?" Kostya asked her.

"You don't need to know."

"The vandal alarm-"

"Taken care of. Now get the glue."

And again Lucy finally caught up with the rest of the room. The books in the Durmstrang library could only be read by students, they appeared blank to the rest of the world. Anna was replacing the contents of the book with blank parchment which anyone without legitimate rights to the library would be incapable of distinguishing from the original pages.

The book was sewn and bound in the next twenty minutes. Anna wasted no time in slipping it under her sweater and disappearing out the door back downstairs to take her place monitoring the 3rd year study session. They could only hold their breath and pray she, and the book, had not been missed.

Exhausted, the students dispersed for an early rest. When Boris came back over to the sofa, Lucy picked up the pack of cards and handed it to him.

"I believe these are yours."

He actually blushed. "I thought it might be a good way of stretching them," he nodded towards her fingers.

Lucy wasn't about to admit that it had been a good idea, so she changed the subject. "You can sew?"

Boris shrugged, helping her to her feet and handing her the crutches. "My father was a sailor. I can also tie very strong knots."

"What was the book about?"

Boris shook his head. "She wouldn't tell us. But I trust Anna's judgment, she'd never have taken the risk if she didn't think it was necessary. She'll tell us in her own time."

As if on cue, Anna returned from escorting the third years back to their dorms, Dimka slipping through the door behind her.

Looking quite pleased with himself, Dimka gave Lucy a nod and followed Boris into the boys room. Anna and Lucy turned the opposite way to prepare for bed,

"No one noticed?" Lucy asked as she awkwardly pulled back the blankets on her pallet.

"No, I don't' think so." Anna stopped herself before she could help Lucy into bed. It had become apparent in the days since they had realized the extent of the damage to her hands that she was intent on doing things herself.

"Something wrong?" She asked softly as Lucy was staring behind her at her pillow.

"Did you change my pillow case?"

"Excuse me?"

"It's different. Same color, but the texture isn't the same."

"Oh, laundry day. I figured that pillow got dirty being on the floor so I switched it out with one of mine and tossed the other down the chute. It's a little firmer and heavier, but better for your neck, I think."

"Oh, thanks." Lucy flopped over and went to sleep.

Anna breathed a sigh of relief and turned off the lights.

* * *

Three days later….

"It's hideous."

"It's not that bad. You're nails look just fine."

"That doesn't change the fact that it's at least an inch shorter than it used to be. I didn't have a lot of height to start out with."

"You'll wear heels."

"Correction, I'll wear _a_ heel, just to get them to match."

The special cast on Lucy's left foot had been removed the day before, with a little help from Anna, just before bed. Which mean Lucy had had all day to come to grips with the fact that, like her hands, the damage to it had just been too severe to heal up completely the way it had been. The foot was twisted in slightly, the toes warped. It didn't hurt, which was a miracle, but there was just no way around the fact that she was going to limp for the rest of her life.

Varenka was the first person to get a good look at it. Lockdown had been in effect for almost 30 minuets, and while Lucy was free to leave the dormitory, she wasn't sure she wanted to.

But she chosen Varenka to tell because, well, Anna wasn't back yet, and Varenka was a no-nonsense kind of girl. If anyone could pull her out of the funk she'd worked herself into whilst alone in the room all day, Varenka could.

"We'll get you some boots. I bet with a few extra insoles in one, the correction won't even be noticeable. And we'll get you a cane."

"No."

"A cool one."

Lucy cracked a smile. "Those don't exist."

"Well we'll invent one. You'll see. I'm going to go scavenge in the closet for some shoes to modify. For now the slippers will have to do."

As Varenka disappeared into the closet that was off the bathroom, Lucy had listened for, half dreaded the all clear. There were a few people who knew today was the day for her foot, and she was waiting to hear them approach, trying to plaster on a confidance and acceptance she didn't quite feel.

When she heard the outer door to the hall opening, she perked up her ears.

She needn't have bothered.

"Kostya!" The scream, the pain of it, echoed off the walls. Feet pounded from the common room into the corridor. The door was shut. There would be a guard outside, Yuri, most likely.

The voices were loud and all speaking at once.

And then they were silent.

A heartbeat, two, maybe three.

And then the wailing commenced.

A door slammed.

"Yuri! Pyotr! Bring him back!" Stiva's voice.

The door banged, there was the sound of muffled fighting, in addition to the sobbing, before it slammed shut once again followed by pounding feet.

Lucy was reaching for her crutches when the door to the girls bedroom swung open.

Kostya stood in the doorway and Lucy instantly understood that something terrible had happened. It must have to have made the young man's face, already too old for him, so suddenly white.

The eyes were another story- the habitually stony glare was replaced by black rage, being held just beneath the surface, and beyond that, buried deep, was something else. With the perfectly chiseled features, standing in the doorway, the nimbus of light from the hall breaking around his silhouette, he looked like a fallen angel. Beautiful, and terrible. Lucy probed, Diego was better at this than her, he would already know what that deeper emotion was.

"We go now." It was not a question.

"Now? But-" She realized instantly that the question-to question at all, was a mistake. Kostya nearly leapt from the door, seized her by the arms, and dragged her out of bed towards the door.

Lucy swallowed hard- Kostya's eyes were not those of a man in complete control. His hands bit into her arms, she was stumbling on her feet, and he punctuated each word with a shake. "We. Go. NOW!"

She nodded mutely.

"Kostya are you mad? She's hurt!"

Boris had appeared in the doorway. He took in the scene in a heartbeat- Lucy struggling to balance on her twisted foot, Constantine seconds away from throttling her, and something flashed in his normally unreadable grey eyes. He crossed the room to them, placing a hand on his oldest friend's shoulder, saying his name softly. It didn't seem to get through to Constantine, who continued to stare at Lucy, _through_ Lucy, with what she was beginning to believe was blind hatred.

She looked away from his face to lock eyes with Boris and shook her head, "I don't-"

"We go now! Get out-"

"Kostya!" Boris bellowed, shaking Kostya so hard Lucy wavered as well. It was as she was about to fall that the mist seemed to clear from Kostya's vision, and he abruptly released her in horror.

Stiva, appearing from nowhere, deftly caught her by the elbow, gently pulling her away from Kostya , steadying her, and handing her the crutches.

Kostya ran his hands over his face. "I'm sorry Lucy," he said, his eyes filled with shame. "Stiva- you sounded the alarm?"

"Yes."

"Get her to the roof." He turned to Boris, "We need to hurry."

Boris followed him out, he turned back at the doorway and exchanged significant looks with Stiva.

Stiva nodded. "Use mine, third drawer. And hurry."

Boris' gaze fell on Lucy for a heartbeat. "Don't leave without us."

And then he was gone.

Stiva gestured to the pile of sweaters he had dropped on the bed. "You better put those on, it's very cold outside."

"Stiva- what's"

"You can't go out in just your socks, I have something you can use instead I'll go get it."

"Who was in the hallway?"

Stiva, paused for a moment, deliberating. Then he swallowed hard, crossed to her, and gently helped her hands pull the second sweater over the first.

"That was Rozalina, and Serhyoza."

Lucy pulled the third sweater on as Stiva gently pulled three pairs of socks onto her feet.

She touched his shoulder to force him to look her in the eye- and found herself staring into the same expression she had seen on Constantine's face.

"Why are we leaving now?"

Stiva tore his gaze away and returned to his task.

"Serhyoza snuck into the 3rd year session in the library after dinner. He had something important to tell Annushka, who was the senior student supervising. He was in the bookshelf behind her when-"

He took two deep breaths.

"When men in masks apparated into the room and began grabbing students and disapparating with them. When Anna made to stop them they…The blast knocked the shelf over onto Serhyoza, he wasn't nocticed as he wasn't supposed to be there; the 3rd year alone had permission to study late, everyone else was supposed to be locked in their dorms. He managed to free himself after they left, but was barely conscious enough to explain it to Rozalina before passing out. She brought him here."

"Annushka…"

"Anna is dead. And we are leaving."

* * *

The wind seemed to find every piece of flesh that wasn't covered by four layers of clothing and bite right through it. Only Lucy's feet were warm, thanks to a pair of fluffy dragon slippers. The little dragon heads on the front didn't fare so well, they had been cheerfully nipping at each other and spouting little flames inside the school, but once Lucy and Stiva had ascended to the roof, they had resorted to sulking and tucking their faces into the side to stay warm.

"They will be here any minute, 1st years first," Stiva peered into the blinding snow, "They have to slip out across the roof so they don't alert anyone, but they should be here soon."

"Quiet," Lucy took a deep breath and began. They were in a hurry. Stiva had explained that, since the abduction took place after lockdown, the staff wouldn't expect the students to be aware of any danger until tomorrow. However, whoever took the 3rd years might not be finished, and could conceivably come looking for another class at any time. Her original plan had been to build a traditional 2 by 2 gate, but if she built a gate wide enough for 4, they could leave in half the time. It would take more energy, but she had been doing little besides sleeping for weeks now.

The light spun out, the familiar purple and green of a highly active wizarding energy seep, and she focused on keeping the rhythm of the energy pulses as even as possible- it took more concentration, but conserved energy, and would mean she would have to fight the gate less. Always important when it was going to be open for a long period of time, especially an open air gate, with no structure to build upon.

Stiva peered through- "It's black?"

"It's black to you- that was Dimitri's idea. It's a security screen, so that if anyone sees us leaving, they won't be able to actually see where we've gone. I can see the other side, everything's all right."

"Nothing's all right," Stiva said in Russian, his eyes scanning the rooftop, and then the water, and back.

"No," she replied in Russian, "Of course it's not. It hasn't been for a long time, has it?"

Stiva gave her a sad smile, then looked up, like a wolf on the scent.

"They're here."

It was Daria, and the first years, and one mudryvolk, all staring suspiciously at the gate.

"Four by four," she whispered to Stiva, "faster that way."

Stiva addressed the students with authority. "Four by four, we don't have a lot of time."

The first years stared.

Stiva swore, "Dasha for the love of God, get them going!"

Daria swallowed hard once, and walked though the gate.

The first years, obedient to a fault, followed. The mudryvolk gave a faint whine, but apparently the imperative to guard her charge overcame her suspicion, and she went through as well.

Stiva continued to scan the roof and the water, and the students flowed through the gate into the unknown. Lucy lost count, she could only vaguely keep track of which year was which as she tried to keep the gate edges as smooth as possible in the high wind.

It was perhaps ten minutes after the last student went through before she realized they were alone on the roof.

"Stiva?"

"Yes?"

"Is that the last?"

"The remaining unassigned 7th years went through," he didn't take his eyes off the water.

"They did?"

"Yes, you were a little zoned out at the time, you missed seeing Yuri nearly piss himself."

"Sorry to hear that."

She waited. Stiva still had not said why they were waiting, or why he seemed tenser now than he was before they had successfully evacuated the entire school in the middle of a blizzard.

"They should be back by now," he muttered in Russian.

"Who?"

Stiva looked up- "You're getting good, that wasn't even standard dialect-"

"Stiva- what's going on?" She thought back, to the faces she had seen pass before her, without really registering who they were. And she realized who was missing.

"Where are Boris and Constantine?"

"They had something they needed to do."

"Shouldn't they be back by now?"

"They said not to leave without them, that's what I'm doing." But he was worried. They should have been back by now. Lucy wasn't looking so good, and if he was being honest, he would admit that he was freezing. It was likely bedlam on the other side, with Yuri and Nadya in charge, and the longer they waited the more likely they were to get caught.

"Stephen, where did they go?"

He didn't answer.

"Stephen, if they're in trouble we need to go find them."

"They expressly said not to do that."

"But it's Boris and Kostya-"

"Who are right here," came Boris's voice from behind her, "Stiva, give Kostya a hand up."

Stiva's features realaxed for the first time since they'd arrived on the roof. He braced his feet at the edge and with one strong arm pulled Kostya, who appeared to be carrying something in the cradle of one arm, over the edge of the roof. Dimka leaped up beside him. Boris pulled up a long rope, neatly coiled it, and handed it to Stiva.

"Thanks for that."

"You climbed up that way?" Lucy stole a glance to the side, the ice covered northern face of the building. She eyed Kostya. "And one-handed? What on earth for?"

"We had to improvise."

"And Dimka? Can leap 3 stories?"

"When sufficiently motivated and unemcumbered, yes."

"Did you get it?" Stiva slung the coiled rope over his shoulder.

Kostya patted the bottle tucked under his arm, "We got it," he passed it to Stiva, who carefully slid it into his pillowcase.

Boris approached Lucy, "How are you feeling?"

"Numb," her teeth chattered a bit. "Can we leave now?"

Kostya nodded. He bent close to Lucy's ear, to be heard over the howling of the wind and fervently said "I really am very sorry about earlier Lucy, I had no right." Lucy nodded, and Kostya gently took her elbow. Stiva took the other, and Boris held her crutches as the four of them stepped across the threshold, Dimka at their side.

It was bumpy, gating always was, and when the grounder had to pass through there was more turbulence. They tumbled out the far side, the boys cursing and grumbling, while Lucy merely lay still on the floor. She was starting to feel the drain. She located the energy sink and deftly tied the gate into it. It crumpled in upon itself like water down the drain, and Lucy dropped her head back onto the floor. She decided she could happily lay there for the next ten years.

She could vaguely hear Kostya speaking, his brusque voice sounded hollow- giving orders, answering questions, and the response of thick Durmstrang shoes scurrying to their tasks. She didn't open her eyes, the numbness was wearing off, and she feared if she didn't fall asleep soon she wouldn't be able to use the exhaustion to sleep through the headache she was going to get any minute now.

"Why Lucy Montero, as I live and breathe. We thought you were dead."

She scowled up into the grinning mouth of Dmitri Chernyshev. Well, technically the _three _grinning mouths of Dmitri Chernyshev, she was still disoriented.

"Right now I wish I were."

Dmitri frowned, "Are you ok? You don't look ok."

"You could at least try and be a gentleman, you know."

The Slytherin shrugged off the insult. "Lying is an unattractive trait, so my mother says." He helped Lucy into a sitting position. The room spun a little more.

"Woah."

"You look just like you did when that bludger hit you in the head last year."

"We always have such fun together."

"Come on Montero, up you get," Dimitri had her up in his arms before she could protest.

"God you're heavy."

"Put me down, I have crutches somewhere, and when the room stops spinning I'll use them to take on all three of you."

"Sure, we'll race."

"I wish I had that bludger right now."

"That's your illness talking, I'm sure," he joked, although a closer examination of Lucy Montero revealed a few ugly scars on her face and arms and there was something not quite right about her feet. He made pains to set her down gently on a sofa near the fireplace they had built under that ugly statue.

"So," he spread his hands wide and made a full turn, "what do you think? You missed all the work, of course."

"I had an unbreakable engagement," Lucy replied dully, casting her eyes up and around.

The smug, proud look in Dmitiri's eyes faded behind concern, but he pushed passed it, and kept his tone light as he bent to kiss her on the forehead.

"Welcome to the Chamber of Secrets. We're glad your back."


	12. Chapter 12: Schools of Ice and Fire

**Chapter 12. Schools of Ice and Fire**

_Some say the world will end in fire,  
__Some say in ice.  
__From what I've tasted of desire  
__I hold with those who favor fire.  
__But if it had to perish twice,  
__I think I know enough of hate  
__To say that for destruction ice  
__Is also great,  
__And would suffice._

~Robert Frost

When Gabrielle Delacour was 8 years old, her sister fought a dragon.

Stole from a dragon, to be precise, but only because it was expected of her. Fleur was both extremely loyal, and extremely ladylike; she wouldn't have stolen without permission.

The dragon had not understood the distinction, and for a brief moment, Gabrielle's sister had caught fire.

Gabrielle hadn't seen it, she had not been there, not yet in any case; but she'd pestered Fleur to tell her the story so many times she could almost smell it. Feel the heat on her legs. Taste the smoke in the air.

She needn't imagine any longer.

Gabrielle wasn't 8 anymore, she hadn't been a child for quite some time, and at the moment, she was in hell.

Beauxbatons was one giant inferno, her class had been cut off from the South Corridor, pinned down behind the fountain in the Great Hall, and she could hear the invaders approaching from the East.

Huddled against the side of the fountain with Elodie, Asiatta, and Lydie, she could barely make out the rest of her herbology class sheltering behind the remains of a once priceless, now headless 17th century marble masterpiece. Horace poked his head out from between the legs, a position that would have been comical on any other day, and beckoned for her to join them.

Gabrielle shook her head. Reaching the statuary meant running out in the open, past the entrance to the East corridor. Even now stray spells shot out of it and shattered mirrors and windows clear across the atrium. It'd be mooncalves to the slaughter.

Horace cast a desperate glance behind him, up the stairs. It was imperative they reach the South Corridor, and soon.

"Allez!" She motioned for Horace and the rest to go on ahead to the South Gallery.

Horace shook his head. "Gab-" her name died on his lips as his eyes widened, he placed a hand to his lips and ducked down behind the base of the statue.

Asiatta and Elodie gripped her hands. Someone was coming.

Slowly, ever so slowly, the three girls peered over the edge of the fountain, praying the mist and smoke obscured them from view.

It was a wizard. It was not one of their teachers.

There was blood on his hands, and on his wand where he had re-gripped it, the red stood out when the light from the flames licking up the walls reflected off the ominous wet blotches.

Elodie clamped both hands over her mouth the muffle a whimper. Asiatta started creeping away to the West side of the fountain, motioning for the girls to follow, but Gabrielle barely moved as she motioned again for Horace to try and get to the South Corridor.

The wizard stuck his head in the fountain and drank. Not for the first time that year Gabrielle was fervently grateful that the atrium fountain was the size of a small swimming pool, with water flowing straight up, then out and down in a curtain of water that hid them from view. She and Elodie dropped to their bellies and crawled, slowly and carefully, to the West side, as far away as possible.

Unfortunately, they were also now further from the stairs.

Gabrielle held her breath. All her eyes could make out was black robes, but she prayed the bloody stranger had slaked his thirst and would return to the East corridor.

The fire had spread from the curtains to the carpet. It was smoking and smoldering and flames were licking their way from the baseboards in.

An explosion from the West rattled the chandelier and sent mirrors crashing off the walls. From the flickering light now pouring out of the Western corridor, she guessed the potions lab had just gone up in flames. There would be no escaping that way.

The doors had locked down hours ago, but Gabrielle was considering the possibility of making a run for the windows when the flames finally caught up with them.

As they had lain prone, to avoid detection, flames had spread across the carpet and were now licking up Elodie's stockinged leg and her skirt. Caught unaware, Elodie had let out one shriek before grinding her teeth against the pain as Asiatta tried to pat out the flames.

One shriek, however, was enough to attract the attention of the wizard. He pulled his head out of the fountain and began to circle around toward them, peering through the smoke.

Unable to stand without revealing themselves completely, the three girls slithered backwards around the fountain perimeter. Even as they did it Gabrielle felt a sinking feeling in her stomach. They couldn't circle forever, eventually this was going to end, badly.

Horace, at least, had recovered his senses. While the stranger's back was turned away from the South Stair, he sent the rest of the class scurrying to the safety of the South Gallery.

The girls had stopped, frozen, listening for the sound of footsteps. It was difficult to make anything out against the crackling of the flames, the splashing of the fountain, and the ominous noises of dueling coming closer by the minute.

They never heard his footsteps. Gabrielle was letting out a breath when she was jerked to her feet by her hair- the wizard had circled around the other way.

The wand was at her throat, she smelled a faint metallic odor, and squeezed her eyes against the acrid smoke, so much worse up here than it had been on the floor. Keeping a grip on her hair, the wizard motioned to Aisiatta and Elodie to stand.

They had not made it to their knees when the wizard gave a grunt, and released Gabrielle's hair. She leapt away, spinning around in shock to see the long, curved blade of an antique sword emerging from the wizard's stomach.

The other end was attached to an arm that vanished at the elbow into the curtain of water. The girls scrambled out of the way, wands drawn as the wizard sagged to his knees and then fell to his side as the sword was withdrawn.

The arms owner emerged fully from the fountain, kicking the wizard's wand away and wiping hair out of his eyes.

"Michel!" He must have come from the drain into the tunnels. No one was supposed to be down there,

"Êtes-vous blessé?"

Gabrielle and Asiatta shook their heads, but Elodi grimaced, looking down at her leg, "Ma jambe…"

The walls shook as another explosions rocked the building.

Goodbye, Alchemy Lab.

"Allons-y!" Horace was running towards them, rolling out of the way as a small chandelier broke free and crashed to the floor.

"Aidez-moi," Michel handed a wide-eyed Gabrielle the bloody sword and bent down to scoop Elodie into his harms. "Permettez-moi, mademoiselle," he added, with a ghost of a smile.

As they ran up the stairs, he gave Gabrielle and the sword a wary glance. "Attention à ça."

She nodded as the reached the top and bolted for the gallery. She'd be careful. But she also wasn't letting go of it until they were safely away. She had the Delacour loyalty, but ladylike wasn't something Gabrielle had been overly concerned with for quite some time.

The gallery was nearly empty, only a frantic looking Luc and Sophie remained.

"Merci Dieu," Sophie counted heads and sagged with relief as they approached.

Luc eyed the sword in Gabrielle's hand and raised an eyebrow. "Qu'est-ce que c'est, Gabrielle?"

Sophie didn't particularly care about the weapon. "C'est tout la classe?"

Horace nodded. "C'est tout."

The two senior students looked expectantly at Michel, who simply nodded. Gabrielle wondered what on earth could have taken him down into the tunnels.

Out the gallery windows, the students could see flames shooting out the windows of the East Wing. Where the professors were.

If any of them were still alive.

"Il l'heure de partir," Luc ushered Horace and Asiatta away from the windows.

He was right, of course. Gabrielle took a breath and turned away to follow.

It was time to go.

* * *

A few hours later….

"Wow."

The Chamber of Secrets made for an excellent hiding place. So excellent, in fact, that the Ravenclaws had been loathe to give the secret up, greater good be damned. It had required three days of secret meetings to convince the necessary super-majority of the International Ravenclaws that it was their duty to reveal the whole truth to the rest of the International Society. The debate had been heated, they'd been forced to resort to the parliamentary procedure on several occasions; parliamentary procedure being the Ravenclaw equivalent of a school yard brawl. Ultimately, while agreeing that it was strategically sub-optimal, they had converged on the necessary votes to declare a moral imperative.

The 'whole truth' being that Ravenclaw house had re-opened and begun painstakingly excavating the Chamber a mere 8 months after it had been officially sealed-off, following the "Heir of Slytherin Incident."

The decision to use "the basement", as Lucy had called it, required extremely delicate selective-altering of the memories of all non-Society Ravenclaws involved in the Chamber project. Fortunately those involved had been limited to the executive council, not the house at large. It was an unpleasant task, unthinkable under most circumstances, but once a moral imperative has been declared, it allows for all sorts of sins.

The original entrances, such as Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, were, of course, of no use, being both sealed and known. However, as the castle sat on top of a large karst region, there were other tunnels and natural caves leading into and out of the chamber, some no doubt used by Salazaar Slytherin himself, for access to the lake or parts of the grounds. Those routes had already been located and stabilized over the past few years, long before the International Society had agreed that they would house and protect the Durmstrang students should they be forced to flee. The new primary entrance from the castle was accessed through a vanishing stair between the dungeons and the first floor on the side of the castle furthest from the lake. Usually, the vanishing step was a mere annoyance, causing a student to simply fall flat on their face. However, with the proper incantation and jumping technique, on the part of a society member with access privileges, the vanishing step opened a chute, which dropped at a less than gentle angle for a few floors before depositing the jumper in a small chamber containing a ladder that climbed up and out, and a hidden door that led to a narrow sloping passage, which emptied out into one of the main water tunnels leading into the Chamber. Getting out was a tiring business, but it was secure.

Once inside, there had been even more work to be done. And the Ravenclaws as a House had never advanced that far in the project, being more interested in studying the frescoes than cleaning the floors. That work was left to the IS. During Lucy's time in prison the Hogwarts International Society had scrubbed and transfigured and built out of the largest space they could find a habitable hideaway deep below the castle. A charmed fireplace funneled the heat that would have gone up the flu down a side tunnel into water tanks that were heated for bathing. The toilets had been set up by tapping the existing piping and extending off it in areas down another set of side tunnels. Rows upon rows of cots lined two opposite ends of the chamber, with the center filled with a collection of hideous sofas and armchairs. A set of bookcases and some very battered tables were placed haphazardly among them to form a sort of living area.

It was among the hodgepodge of neglected loveseats, her part now played, that Lucy lay, largely forgotten as the Opolchenie laid out the rules of the regime to the younger students. She felt frozen. She'd always been cold at Durmnstrag, but after the hell of the escape, she thought she might never be warm again. Deciding that shivering was as much works as she was prepared for, she'd put her frozen slippers in front of the fire and curled up on a sofa as Dimitri pointed out the finer details of their handiwork.

"Wow…." She said again, as she cast her gaze about before stopping, jaw dropped, eyes fixed on the cavern's centerpiece.

Dimitri kept right on talking.

"You should see the "before" pictures. Which, the Ravenclaws have, of course. Thought of almost everything, they did, including a scouring charm that got rid of all the slime. Believe me, getting decomposing basilisk out of unfinished stone is harder than you'd think."

"And yet, you left the skeleton," Lucy found it impossible to tear her gaze from the massive and intensely creepy vertebrae of the long-dead monster that undulated between a pair of couches before coming to an end at the giant skull, which was being used as a coffee table.

"Oh, that was my idea, a nicely Slytherin touch. Adds atmosphere, not to mention solves a problem; there aren't many ways to dispose of an adult basilisk skeleton discretely. Especially when the lake is occupied by merpeople. But, there's still the matter of food. I don't quite believe that an Easy-Spell-Oven is going to feed this lot."

"Stiva swears by it. Says it doesn't do fancy food, but it is fairly nutritious, and it just needs to be stocked with-"

"Winter-oats," Stiva appeared and sat down on an arm of the sofa. "We've been using one in the school ever since Barrabas became a full time chef- slightly modified of course. One massive incident of salmonella poisoning was more than enough for us."

"But the oats-"

"Sprout in water, don't need any sunlight. The Herbology class engineered a line suited to the Durmstrang winter climate, with very small seeds. Each student has a supply sewn into their pillow. As long as we have a water source, they'll grow like weeds and sustain themselves."

Dimitri shrugged, "We could still bribe the house elves-"

"No, Kostya is most insistent. The fewer people know we are here, the safer we all will be."

Dimitri glanced over to where Kostya was touring the cavern with Gisella and Sergei. "Stiva, isn't it?"

Stiva nodded.

"I don't mean to pry, but we were expecting quite a few more."

Stiva swallowed hard. "We lost some."

Lucy saw the hard look come over his face and took over.

"The third years, Dimitri. It was… they lost the entire class."

Dimitri swore.

"Not quite the entire class," Stiva sighed, looking across the Chamber to where two students were unrolling small carpets, one behind the other.

"But you said-"

"All of the current third years are gone. But you see that girl, the one praying over there?"

Lucy watched the prayer, familiar from her days spent in the Istanbul school, "Yes."

"That is Rani Harappa. And in front of her is her brother Iskander Harrappa. Rani should have been in third year right now, but over the summer her brother pushed at her to take the fall placement exam for fourth year. Badgered her to study every day of the holidays. She passed in September, she's a fourth year. Isky never said why he wanted her out of third."

"You think he knew?"

Stiva's eyes were un-readable, "Isky's a little bit… different. But he always seems to know when Rani is going to need his help. As long as she's with us, I think it would be a wise decision to listen to any suggestions he may have."

"Like what?"

Stiva nodded to the pile of pillowcases on the floor. Most of the students had been keeping extra sets of clothes in their pillows for weeks, so that they could grab them and leave at a moments notice. Stiva's lay on top, a bit misshapen from the bottle that was lodged in it.

"That mission that Boris and Kostya just came back from?"

Lucy remembered it vaguely, mostly as the ending to her long and frozen ordeal. Her fingers were still numb. "Yeah."

"It was Iskander's idea. He told us not to leave without it."

"When?"

Stiva gave her look. "Two months ago."

"Leave without what, exactly?"

"Stiva." Constantine's voice rang from across the room, and Stiva rose to join him, patting Lucy on the head as he left.

"Thanks for the lift, Luchka."

Dimitri shook his head. Lucy raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"When did you learn Russian?"

Lucy, too emotionally and physically exhausted to smile, managed a weak shrug.

"There's not a lot to do there," she shrugged.

"Well, you might have tried to give us some advance warning about the dogs," Dimitri cast a wary eye over to where the pack of 7 was examining the perimeter of the main cavern, sniffing disdainfully and baring their teeth in what could only be interpreted as disapproval.

"Sergei handled those details, blame him."

"Done. Now, are you going to explain-" he glanced significantly at her foot, her hand, his gaze lingering on the scars on either side of her face.

"No." Lucy cut him off before he could elaborate. "I'm was….away. I'm back now."

Dimitri started to press, then saw the look in Lucy's eye and stopped cold. Whatever caused that, he had no intention of asking her to re-live. "I'll uh, make sure that's clear. Whatever the reason you were gone, we're glad you're back."

Lucy sighed, relieved she wouldn't have to tell the story, and grateful that Dimitri would understand.

"They seem awfully calm for a group that just lost an entire year." Lucy followed Dimitri's gaze to where the 1st year girls stood at attention by their cots, listening to Varnenka lay down the law.

"It's their way. Maybe it's comforting, to have the routine to fall back on, the discipline."

"The Durmstrang discipline," Dimitri spat, "My mother thought it was inhuman. Everything about the school- the isolation, the cold, the relentless running and physical training. She hated it there. Said she felt more like a soldier than a student, and never a child."

"What about your father?"

"Loved it. Thought it made stronger graduates, built a sense of comraderie."

"So how did you end up here?"

"When so many of You-Know-Who's followers came from Durmstrang alumni, father's argument about camaraderie lost its potentcy. Mother didn't want her children to associate with the children of those that managed to avoid prosecution. Our names have been on the roles for Hogwarts since before I could walk. One of the only times my mother won an argument with father."

Lucy contemplated the idea of Dimitri actually answering to a higher authority while the boy himself observed the Durstrang soldiers in action.

Despite their current state of shock, the Durmstrangers set about occupying the cavern with typical precision and order. Girls were assigned to the beds to the left of the large and disturbing statue of Salazaar Slytherin, the boys across the Chamber to his right. First years took the beds closest to the fire and farthest from any cavern entrance, followed by second, fourth, fifth, and sixth years. Seventh years were scattered throughout the three deep column of cots to maintain order. Lucy noted that her pillowcase had been deposited on a cot towards the back of the column.

She didn't bother offering to help. Aside from the unavoidable fact that her head was throbbing and she barely had the energy to stand up, let alone hobble, there was a certain rhythm to the way the students worked that she would only interrupt. After all, she may have been dressed like them, and she could speak like them, but she really wasn't _one of them_.

So here she sat, in the basement of her old school, no longer providing any services, but still attached…the appendix of the Durmstrang contingent.

Dimitri eventually dragged her back to reality when he broke out a packet of cauldron cakes and filled her in on the situation with the new Hogwarts teachers. Especially the Carrows.

"It's why we're glad we hid this place so well. I have to tell you, when the Ravenclaws proposed not two, but three successive cave-ins to block the old entrances, I was tempted to strangle that sweet little Ducasse girl myself."

"You set off cave-ins?"

" 'Controlled rock falls', is what Sergei called it. 'Controlled' my Aunt Isengard! I broke a toe!"

"Must have been excruciating," Lucy commented dryly.

Dimitri, glancing down at Lucy's crooked foot, recognized his blunder and quickly rambled on. "Anyway, if anyone does get past the first cave-in, they'll find the tunnel collapsed again 20 meters ahead. And if they get past that one, there's the next cave-in, and so on and so on, they'll give up; and if they don't, we'll have quite a bit of warning."

Which reminded Lucy. "How did you know we were coming?" The plan had been for the Hogwarts students to be informed in advance so as to be prepared for their arrival. That obviously had not happened.

"We left the bell," Dimitri waved his hand towards the basilisk coffee table, on which sat a small ordinary looking handbell, with a piece of paper tied onto the handle on which was scrawled, "Ring for service."

"You ring that one, it rings a matching one that Gisella shrank and attached to her watch. Apparently her great-great grandmother didn't believe in house elves, so she used the bells in her old age to let her family know when she needed something. Someone's been wearing that watch for weeks to make sure we were always ready. I had it today, so I activated the duty tree."

"There's a duty tree?" Lucy had always associated those with snow days and room mothers.

Dimitri raised an eyebrow. "Do I really need to say it?"

"Ravenclaws," Lucy sighed.

Some things never changed. Satisfied that with the Ravenclaws in control there was very little left for her to do, Lucy snuggled back into the sofa and fell into a well-deserved sleep.

In what felt like no time at all, she was awakened by a deep voice announcing "We have visitors!"

The sound of many tiny footsteps heralded the approach of Marguerite Ducasse, who burst out of the side tunnel, her skirt soaked from splashing through puddles, and from the looks of the stains, falling in at least once on her way.

She cast a frantic look about, clearly familiar with the chamber, but not reacting at all to the strangers now populating it. She paused only until her eyes found Sergei, then took off, making a beeline across the chamber straight for him.

Standing at Sergei's side, Stiva said nothing but raised his eyebrows at a slightly nonplussed Yuri, the duty sentry, who had strolled out of the tunnel behind Marguerite at a more measured pace.

Yuri shrugged, "If she's a threat than we have bigger problems than I thought," and returned to his post.

Marguerite didn't pause to ask Stiva's name, but skidded to a stop in front of the two boys, her face pale, and thrust a newspaper into Sergei's hands.

It was a special edition of _Le Monde Magique,_ and although Sergei could not read it's flashing headline, one word, combined with the picture below, said enough. "Beauxbatons," and a palace in flames.

Her voice shook, her eyes were wild, and she didn't seem to realize that she wasn't babbling in English. "Un incendie…Il est completement perdu. … Il ne reste rien."

She shook her head, "There's nothing left."


	13. Chapter 13: Still Not Dead

**Chapter 13: The Not-Dead**

"_They turned our power down,  
__And drove us underground-  
__But we went right on with the show..._

_There are not many who remember,  
__They say a handful still survive,  
__To tell the world about  
__The way the lights went out,  
__And keep the memory alive..."_

~Billy Joel  
Miami 2017 (Seen the Lights Go Out on Broadway)

"You would think," Lucy said, staring up at the wall that rose above the fireplace from her new favorite spot, the sofa that was warmest, " that if one was going to design a larger than life statue of one's head, one would try and make it a little more _flattering_."

"From what I know of Salazaar Slytherin, he was crazy enough to consider himself very handsome." Sergei hung the last of Lucy's wet things on hooks conjured above the hearth, and perched himself on the arm of the sofa.

"Maybe he was just egotistical enough…"

"Bet it burns his cauldrons that a bunch of muggle borns and half breeds found a way into his inner sanctum and converted it into a halfway house."

"Well he's certainly not going to be happy about what you did with his pet snake." Lucy craned her neck up over the back of the sofa and eyed the skeleton coffee table with a shudder.

"It's a basilisk, Lucy."

"Whatever. You're certain there aren't any more down here?"

"There was only ever just the one. And Harry Potter killed it years ago."

Lucy turned her gaze to the left of the nose of Salazaar Slytherin, eyeing the many tunnels that led into the main chamber. Tunnels a baby basilisk could appear from at any time.

"Maybe we should get a rooster, just in case."

"I think the Chamber is at near capacity without adding any more pets."

That made her grin.

"Dimitri's pissed you didn't warn him about the mudryvolks."

"I never saw them! When Stiva mentioned guard dogs I never thought they'd be so big."

Lucy grined as she watched Dimka stalk past. She followed him towards the knot of people speaking too quickly for her to hear. She'd seen them converge on Marguerite as she'd sprinted into the Chamber.

"Aren't they done yet?"

"Do you want me to go find out what's going on?"

Lucy shook her head. "They'll remember me when they remember me. Stay here and keep me awake- if I fall asleep at 8 am I'll never adjust to the time change. I want to get a good look at Marguerite when she realizes I'm here."

If she was being honest with herself, Lucy would also admit that any news that so distracted Marguerite that she forgot Lucy was back was news she could stand to wait an hour, or a year, to hear.

There'd been a full minute of silence as they students studied Marguerite's wrinkled early edition of Le Monde Magique. Below the fold, lined up as if they were appearing in a muggle yearbook, were the photos of each and every Beauxbatons faculty member; in black and white, and frozen, a quaint French wizarding tradition used on only one occasion: obituaries.

"When?"

Marguerite was still catching her breath, palms on her knees. She straightened up, still puffing.

"Last night….just before midnight. Close as we can figure…. they hit it at or just after… they attacked Durmstrang."

"The students…"

"They didn't…that is, once they put out the fire, they didn't find bod-… they're gone."

"They might have escaped."

"Or they might have all been taken, like the third years," Constantine commented from over Gisella's shoulder.

Marguerite looked up at the stranger, confused. The abduction of part of the Durmstrang story had not been made general knowledge yet among the Society.

"May I?" He held out his hand for the paper, which Sergei passed.

Constantine perused the cover page, then studied Marguerite.

"Where did you get this?"

Marguerite raised an eyebrow, then drew herself up and regally extended her hand. "Marguerite Ducasse."

Constantine inclined his head, charmed. "Forgive me. Constantine Golernyshev. Where did you get this? Obviously the Beauxbatons were too busy or incapable of sending it."

"My brother Andre."

"He regularly sends you Le Monde?"

Gisella stepped in. "Andre Ducasse is the son of the French ambassador. He has, on occasion, used his contacts on the outside to provide us with resources as the school rules against contraband became stricter."

"Resources?"

"Yes. It's how we got a signal de-scrambler for the wireless."

A crowd had gathered, and the paper was passed around, along with rapid conversation in Russian. Marguerite stared at Dimitri, waiting for a translation when she heard a familiar voice, speaking a language she didn't understand, hidden from her by the back of the sofa.

She froze, her eyes begging Dimitri for confirmation, he merely smiled. Marguerite leaped over the couch and landed on a swearing Lucy.

"Everyone said you were dead, but I knew you were alive, I knew it." Marguerite gushed.

Lucy hugged her back with the one arm that wasn't pinned under her body. "I'm glad to see you're all right."

Marguerite scrambled off Lucy and sat down on the sofa beside her. "What about you, are you-"

"I'm going to be fine. Almost as good as new."

Marguerite bit her lip as she looked at the angry scars that ran from Lucy's ear to lip, took in her hand.

Lucy nodded in acknowledgement. "I said _almos_t as good," she shrugged, ending conversation on that topic by asking for an explanation of the big news.

Marguerite, who had memorized the article, filled Lucy in while Sergei consulted with the Opolchenie.

"Sounds like they struck both schools at the same time."

"But they weren't successful. Because the Durmstrang students hadn't been broken, and because the Beauxbaton faculty were willing to lay down their lives for the school."

Lucy stared hard at a faded bruise on Marguerite's wrist. "From what I've learned, the Hogwarts students can't rely on that kind of loyalty from all of their professors anymore."

Marguerite shook her head.

"And the students, while resourceful, don't have the unity of the other schools because of the House system."

Marguerite thought about that, and reluctantly nodded. The Slytherins especially were a chancey bunch as far as loyalties were concerned.

"So," Lucy pondered the ceiling, the castle above that sheltered her old school fellows, then returned to the cavern below that held her current peers, "we can only wonder what Hogwarts will do when it's our turn to be attacked."

She looked over at Boris, Stiva, Varenka and Kostya. She may have helped them escape the frying pan for an inferno that was much, much worse.

Marguerite took Lucy's damaged hand, which she'd been trying to hide behind her back, and managed a weak smile. "I'm glad you're back."

Lucy weakly squeezed the young girls fingers, and they looked around the cavern; cold, damp, filled with old furniture and a dead snake.

"It's good to be home."

Wasn't it?

* * *

Something was different; Rasheph could feel it, pressing against the back of his brain. It was there when he'd awoken, and he'd tried to ignore it for most of the morning. As prefect he was responsible for supervising the 6th year Herbology class as they gathered the ripened seed pods of Salamander's Seed, a shrub that was both potently toxic and highly flammable. Despite a humidity spell that had his robes limp and water droplets freezing to the glass panes of greenhouse 9, he'd still put out three fires and administered 4 antidotes in less than 30 minutes. He couldn't afford to be distracted.

He looked across the greenhouse to Bet, wrapping the hand of a careless student. Her brow was furrowed, and when she met his eyes, he knew she was feeling it too. It was _there_, the new force was pushing against the part of his mind he used when he broadcast or received images, the part that ached when he accidentally pushed himself into someone's dream. He raised his eyebrows at Bet.

"_I feel it too."_ Her voice in his mind was clear, thanks to so little distance, and eye contact.

"_It feels like…"_ She instinctively grabbed the hand of the student on her left, before the girl accidentally brought a male and female pod into contact and set them both on fire.

"The green pods go in the glass jars, the red pods go in the ceramic containers, Cecily. The boys are harvesting green, so you should only be touching red, only placing them in ceramic, are we understood?"

"Yes Bethany."

"Did you touch a green pod?"

"Um…I don't know?"

"If you get oils from both on your hands you're going to be poisoned. Go wash them before you start again."

As she kept an eye on the girl to ensure she washed her hands thoroughly, she finished her thought to Rasheph.

"_Lucy."_ She finished.

Rasheph carefully sealed a glass jar, and shook his head. He was not a good mindspeaker, but he projected into Bet's mind the last image they had seen before being sent back from Istanbul to King's Cross; an exhausted Diego Alvarez, his eyes empty and without hope.

"_Just because they didn't find her before term started, doesn't mean they _never_ found her. They may just not have told us. For protection."_ Bet's eyes were hopeful.

Rasheph projected images of the castle as it was, a locked down prison for the students, run by Death Eaters, where the muggle-born especially were singled out for torture. Bet sighed.

"_I didn't say it made any _sense_ for her to come back."_

Rasheph wasn't sure how to communicate the fact that, not only did he find it impossible to believe Lucy Montero would ever willingly and consciously return to Hogwarts of her own free will, he had his doubts as to whether she was alive at all.

He shrugged. For all he knew the tingling just meant they were being lax about shields, or maybe another student had developed gifts. Whatever the cause, he was going to ignore it. They didn't have the luxury of focusing on hypothetical dangers when any minute now their world was likely to explode.

* * *

The Opolchenie had been in deep conversation with the heads of house of the International Society for hours. Well, all the heads but Lucy, who remained planted in front of the fire, a Marguerite perched on the back like a bird.

"Don't you have class right now?"

"Cancelled. Someone busted the kappa tanks in Care of Magical Creatures classroom. Slime EVERYWHERE."

"And no one knows who?"

"Peeves."

"Seriously?"

Marguerite gave her a Look.

"He's been extra destructive, of course. But he more than happily takes credit for our diversions. I think making te staff angry has at last become more satisfying than torturing the students."

"Well, there's your silver lining, then."

They both grew quiet, watching the cluster of teenagers trying to make sense of the extent of last night's tragedy.

The fact that both schools had been attacked in the same night prompted immediate speculation as to whether or not students had been abducted from Beauxbatons, like the 3rd years, or they had all escaped, like the rest of Durmstrang.

Why they had burnt the school to the ground, was another question. Just taking an opportunity to destroy the former muggle palace? To conceal evidence?

No solid answers would be found until they knew for certain whether or not any students had survived. The established protocol for a "bug out" was "radio silence" for 8 days, followed by a communication using the secondary protocol.

Lucy had not been part of the discussion, but had gotten it all out of Marguerite, who, in the midst of her early morning dash into the Chamber, had remembered to stuff her pockets full of food. She chatted while Lucy, equal parts grateful and proud, inhaled muffins.

"Explain to me again why you wait 8 days?"

"The reason for the delay is to give them time to re-stablish a safe zone."

"Eight days?" The Durmstrang students had been pretty much settled in after 8 hours.

"That's part of the design. If documents or protocols were compromised, and someone tried to contact us claiming to be Beauxbatons after, say, 5 days, then we would know that it was an imposter."

"What if he _read_ that the protocol was to wait 8 days?"

"Emergency contact protocols are never written down. One person is the designated emergency contact, usually someone younger, less conspicuous than the primary agent, less likely to be targeted."

"You?"

"Oh no. In the event that Hogwarts bugs out, someone else has our procedures for re-establishing contact."

"Who?"

"No idea. But my money would be on Sasha Yudin. She's terrifying, but she looks tiny and non-threatening to the untrained eye."

Before Lucy could ask about the secondary protocol, Marguerite's watch chimed.

"Shift change. I have to run if I'm going to blend into the crowd." She gave Lucy a fierce hug.

"I'm so glad you aren't dead." She whispered for the fiftieth time, before running off towards Yuri and the tunnel out.

Exhausted, Lucy dozed off in front of the fire, only to be awoke by a hard shake.

She blinked up at Constantine and Dimitri.

"Well?"

Dimitri handed her a slender box, inside which, nestled on a bed of velvet, lay an ancient-looking fountain pen, with brass fittings and a glass vial of deep purple ink.

"Em….you shouldn't have?"

Dimitri smiled, Constantine did not.

"This is the secondary protocol."

"Why are you giving this to me?" She didn't want to whine, but holding a pen was clearly not a strength she possessed at the moment, and it looked so...delicate. Not the sort of thing to be entrusted to a still-clumsy cripple.

"Because you aren't doing anything," Constantine said bluntly.

Lucy's expression begged to differ, and before she could lash out at Kostya about _who_ exactly had held open a gate for _hours _in the freezing cold while he went on a super-secret mission, he hastily added- "Now that you've fulfilled your part of the deal, I mean. You can't go back to school as originally planned, since you got yourself expelled and…" He wisely didn't speculate on where Lucy had been after her expulsion.

Dimitri chimed in. "We've needed somewhere safe to put that thing. Marguerite can't monitor it much longer and avoid suspicion. It is, after all, the Beauxbatons-Hogwarts secondary, the Beauxbatons-Durmstrang secondary is-" Dimitri cast a wary looked at Constantine- "not available."

Of course. Anna would have known about it. And Anna was gone.

"So you need a Hogwarts student to _babysit a pen_?"

She'd set a world record gating a few hours ago. Now she was being given a job entrusted to ugly coffee mugs all over America.

"Unless you don't feel up to it, Montero. We could always put the tiny French girl in danger." Dimitri teased.

Lucy snatched it, and Dimitri winced- "Be careful! That thing was designed by-"

His watch chimed, and the Slytherin excused himself abruptly, then turned back, and dropped his scarf over Lucy's neck. "Stay warm, you look like hell," he admonished, before dashing out.

Constantine looked at the scarf with a vague look of distaste. "You're cot is over there, do you need help getting there?"

She refrained from telling him it wasn't that she needed help, it was that she had no desire to sleep in that dark part of the cave at all, and shook her head. They'd lost a close friend that night, not to mention an entire year group. Fear of the dark seemed like a small and insignificant thing indeed.

As she hobbled along she gave a weak laugh, 'small and insignificant', it could also describe her.

As she fell into the cot, wrapping Dimitri's scarf around her neck, pulling Boris's hat over her ears and curling up under the thin blanket, she heard a voice from her memory. A cold and polished voice from the darkness she thought she had made herself forget.

"_The truth, Lucy Montero, is that you are not the hero of this story."_

* * *

Lucy woke to a cold nose and hot breath, neither her own. She opened her eyes to find the black eyes of an unfamiliar mudryvolk staring back at her.

Make that 6 mudryvolk, squeezed between her cot and those surrounding it, watching her intently.

It must still be night. The far sides of the chamber were always dark, but the fire seemed to be dampened, and everyone she could see was still in bed. She heard far off pacing, the sound of the night guard.

The mudryvolk continued to stare.

She must have been having the nightmare again. And since her pillow had served as a foci of the original sound shield, she could only be grateful that it did not appear to have been damaged during the move, which, in all the rush, had not included Anna's night light. The rest of the students in the cavern slept on, blissfully deaf to her screams.

"Where's Dimka?" She directed her whisper to the nearest wolf.

He cast his gaze toward the far side of the cavern. Which meant, she presumed that Dimka was somewhere over there; either asleep with the boys or off patrolling the tunnels.

"I'm sorry?" She whispered, not at all sure of what to do, or even which language they spoke. She defaulted to Russian. "Nightmare. It's not real, you can go back to, wherever you came from now."

The blackest of the mudryvolk surrounding her stood up, and as if on cue, five of the bunch departed. The black wolf remained.

"I really am sorry," Lucy offered weakly, before lying back down. She wished Dimka were here. He provided a calming influence that she had assumed was a mudryvolk attribute but which she wasn't feeling from the rest of the,- pack, for lack of a better word. What was the collective plural for a group of mudryvolk- a drive? A parliament? A gaggle?

She was still pondering the idea when she drifted off the sleep.

Only to be awoken by a cold nose and a soft whine sometime later.

She remembered the nightmare this time. There would be no going back to sleep. She apologized to the black mudryvolk, put her feet into her still sullen dragon slippers and padded over, with her blanket, to the sofa in front of the fire. The light was dim, but much brighter than in the sleeping area. The mudryvolk seemed to nod, but remained, pacing among the cots of sleeping girls.

Lucy curled up to watch the fire. In a few hours, she would hobble back to her cot, drop her slippers on the floor, and pretend to have just woken up. She was with Durmstrangers. They didn't cry. They didn't whine. And they certainly didn't fear the dark. They didn't fear anything.

* * *

In the wee hours of the next morning, a vampire sat in a Paris café perusing the newspaper. Or, rather, pretending to peruse the newspaper; Darius had had centuries to perfect the illusion of reading at mortal speed when he had, in fact, finished the paper in a few minutes and was currently solving the crossword in his head.

The trick was making your eyes track real, real slow while your mind was otherwise occupied.

He'd already found what he was looking for: a brief note, buried on the penultimate page, detailing a fire at an abandoned accordion factory the night before. Some gypsies had been squatting in the building, and one of their fires had gotten out of control in the night.

There was, of course, no accordion factory, but the flames from Beauxbatons' inferno had been visible from so far away it made it impossible to find and alter the memories of everyone who had seen them. The agents to arrive with the local gendarmes had decided on a factory fire, bland enough to suppress and curiosity. Given the school's musical focus, Darius supposed an abandoned instrument factory was, in its own way, appropriate. The article had listed a reliable agency company as the owners, no casualties, and cited the cause as shoddy electrical wiring. The area would be cordoned off until the remnants of asbestos in the structure could be removed.

Darius smiled. God bless asbestos. Muggle-made, and still they were _petrified_ of the stuff, so invoking it could hide all types of sins without a trace of magic.

The agent in the coroner's office had made sure the autopsies revealed nothing out of the ordinary, and that the bodies were buried in a potter's field.

That part stung. Madam Maxime was a fine woman, as were her staff, some of the finest artists of the century. Their families deserved better. But they'd be watched, the families, all of them, and any attempt to contact them would have risked exposing the Underground. Blaming it all on the muggles was the cleanest course of action.

Leave no traces, not even memories. Le Souterrain must be protected. That was their law.

It was not yet midnight, the café was still busy, muggles smoking, talking, or typing away at laptop computers, earnestly ignoring the world around them.

No one gave the hipsters enough credit for unconsciously but effectively camouflaging the occasional wizard-as-muggle fashion error. People used to look at you funny when your clothes made no sense, it drew attention. Now, they thought you were being ironic.

His shift here was almost over. Any minute now a passel of flippant university students would come giggling into the café and he'd be free to return home and catch the late night John Wayne marathon on cable.

He hoped they had subtitles this time- nothing like a bad French dub to ruin The Searchers.

Darius didn't make any outward movements to betray the moment when he realized this wasn't going to happen, but inwardly he was cursing in several languages as he spied an operative heading his way, using the "urgent" approach path down the left side of the street.

He left a generous tip for the waiter and in no particular rush, carefully pulled on his coat, scarf, and hat, making his way to the door. Once outside, he pulled on his left glove. A student handing out flyers announcing a new band to be featured in one of the area's more mediocre clubs pressed a flyer into his hand.

"You must come see. They played The Palace last night, it was on fire! There was a surprise private performance earlier that day, the audience had no idea they were coming! Haven't spoken to anyone who saw that show, but club manager said they left a real mess! Still in the city! Come see them while you can!"

The student moved on down the street, harassing smokers and pedestrians to come see "Public Enemy Underground."

Damn. Darius lit a cigarette. Beauxbatons had been expected; they'd been ready, they'd had a plan. But both schools in one night? This was happening faster than anticipated. Durmstrang had been hit, that was the message. No sign of the students. He'd need to question Barrabbas, read his memories to see if the students had escaped or been taken. That was _if_ Barrabbas was alive, capable of speech, and not in hiding from his ex-wives. A condition of his contract stipulated that he be provided with sanctuary should he ever leave that god-forsaken school.

Most of all, they needed to find Anna Nikitin. Everything hinged on her.

* * *

No word came from the Beauxbatons that next day, or the next. Even though contact wasn't expected for almost another week, with every day that passed, the Opolchenie became more and more tense. The Hogwarts students became more anxious, although their unease was less of a guilt and more of a dread, as if they knew they were the only bastion left unconquered and time was running out.

Being student-soldiers, the Durmstrangers continued to drill. In addition to PT and make-shift classes run by older students, there were also evacuation drills. Lucy didn't participate, but she suspected one of the third years had been assigned to portray her in the drills. The girl kept limping on the wrong foot, which annoyed Lucy more than the assumption that she wouldn't be able to look after herself.

Her duties, such as they were, were limited to watching a magical pen and teaching English. While the rest of the senior students patrolled the tunnels, to ensure that the vulnerable points the students, and Iskander Harappa, had identified remained under constant vigil, she sat at a table and helped students read the books supplied by the IS.

Unfortunately, the IS had amassed a collection of old potions texts, a few histories, and several trunks full of bodice-ripping romance novels. Yuri dove into them with gusto.

"Lucy, please to explain 'aureola.' Is like nipple, yes?"

"Lucy, please to describe 'turgid.'"

"Lucy, what's 'maidenhead'?"

She's almost gotten beyond the point of blushing anymore.

There was a daily visit from a member of the IS- usually a Slytherin as they had managed to ingratiate themselves with the school's new shadow overlords, and were given more privileges. It was several days before a Gryffindor appeared.

And then one day, a week after their arrival, Lucy looked up from where she was doggedly practicing walking without a cane, much to Yuri's amusement, to see the Lane brothers staring at her from across the Chamber.

Unsure what to do, she waved.

William moved first, a smile on his face as he gave her a careful hug. "So the stories are true."

Lucy raised an eyebrow.

"When we asked how they got here, Sergei said ghosts."

"I'm not dead yet!" She stamped her right foot, the effect somewhat spoiled by the fact that she wobbled and leaned on him for support.

"So Marguerite said. But, we all kind of assumed... Especially after Warren told us you went missing from prison."

"He told you?"

"That was the last message he got through to us. They started mail restrictions shortly after."

"Rotten luck, it meant he got you the bad news, but wasn't able to tell you when I was found." Lucy finished.

"When was that?"

"Mid-February."

William's face became stony.

"You went missing first of the year." He counted the weeks in his head.

Lucy shook her head and patted him on the arm

"And now I'm back."

Wesley finally joined them.

"Sorry Lucy, bit of a shock. We thought you were dead."

Lucy rolled her eyes. "So I hear."

"I'm glad you're not."

"Me too."

"You look worse than when that bludger hit you."

Wesley winced as his brother stepped hard on his instep. "Well she does!"

"Wesley you say the sweetest things."

"S'not that bad. I mean- the scars on your face'll fade, I'm sure. And when you're sittin' down no one will be able to tell your legs don't line up."

While it was true, Lucy's bone healing had been imperfect and her left leg was now an inch shorter than her right, people normally weren't so direct about pointing it out.

"The sweetest things."

William hit his brother on the head. "I'm sorry. He doesn't mean it. Well he does, but he wouldn't normally-that's why I had to bring him down here."

Lucy shook her head. "Say what?"

"He got in trouble in Potions class. New punishment is that they have to drink their mistakes."

"Sounds familiar," Yuri commented. "What were they making?"

"They were prepping Veritiserum."

"Ick," Lucy made a face. "That stuff leaves a funny aftertaste. Like earwax."

Yuri filed away this useful tidbit and pressed on.

"What stage?"

"The first- the entire potion is incredibly complicated and the starter has to ferment for weeks, but –"

"They were using the younger students like factories. We've experienced the same tactic. So he drank _slaboumnyi soka_."

William raised an eyebrow, "Um, God bless you?"

Lucy frowned, " 'Idiot juice'"?

Yuri grinned, "Very good Luchka. Although technically it translates more like "imbecile juice", it's the roughest brew of veratiserum. You can't force someone to tell you something, it just loosens up their tongues so they say whatever they are thinking, regardless of how inappropriate it happens to be. It's kind of like having a contusion."

"Or being very, very drunk." Lucy added.

Wesley didn't seem to be listening, he was waving his hand back and forth with intense concentration.

"Is that supposed to happen?"

"No, clearly your brother didn't prepare his Stage 1 correctly, he seems to be hallucinating."

Lucy looked up at William. "It's lucky you got him out, with what he knows he could have blabbed the whole thing."

"He was distracted by Gretel Van Hoochman's breasts, thank Merlin for small favors. He was ranting about their beauty and perfection for a full five minutes before Kentaro Tsujimoto snuck him a Puking Pastille."

"How do you know it wasn't Koji?"

The Tsujimoto twins were notoriously difficult to tell apart.

"Because Kentaro's the one _without_ the eye-patch." William ignored Lucy's sputter at this recent development and went on. "Anyway, Kentaro got him to the toilets and kept him vomiting until lunch when someone was able to find me. I'm supposed to be taking him to the hospital wing."

"And now?"

"We'll get there eventually. I don't care about detention, I think my ankles are getting used to it, but we can't leave him around the rest of the students like this."

Yuri nodded. "I'll get Varenka, she'll know what we need."

What they needed was two potions- one to counteract the accidental poisoning that was behind Wesley's hallucinations, and the second to knock him into a state of deep unconsciousness for the next 48 hours, to allow the truth serum to burn out of his system.

"You can't just counteract the goofy juice?" Lucy asked.

"Idiot juice," Varenka corrected, "And no, that would be incredibly touchy and time consuming even had the original potion been brewed correctly. Without knowing the exact error Wesley obviously made, it is easiest to treat the symptoms."

"And given Wesley's performance in Potions the past year, him poisoning himself into unconsciousness isn't that hard to believe." His brother added charitably.

Varenka nodded. "The first aid kit will be adequate to subdue the hallucinations, but to properly sedate him I'd need some fresh ingredients."

She rattled off a list. William frowned for a moment. "We should have all that, but…it would be in Greenhouse 3."

"That's a problem?"

"Getting outside the castle is much more complicated than it used to be..."

In the end, it was Iskander Harappa who found a way. The unnaturally quiet boy had been mostly left to his own instincts, given his gift for prescience. And his instincts since arrival had been to map out the karst system that fed into the Chamber, searching for outlets to the grounds.

He'd found two, so far. But they needed widening before everyone could access them, at the moment only small students could slip through. Still, on short notice- they had to get Wesley to the hospital wing before someone noticed the brothers' absence- it was going to have to work.

"It has to be during dinner, the grounds will be as clear as they are going to get, cross your fingers and hope no one is collecting night-flowering fang-forbs. Stay as close to the walls as possible, the Dementors keep to the outer perimeter. No need to set them off." Dimitri frowned as Lucy shoved her head out of the Hollyhead Harpies sweatshirt.

"It's a little big, Best I could steal on short notice."

Lucy shrugged. Going topside in their uniforms was out, and she was the only student without suitable street clothes. Dimitri had purloined some laundry from the Slytherin common room. She didn't want to ask where he'd found a pair of women's jeans in her size.

As it was, Lucy was being taken along against protests from nearly everyone. She was too weak, she was too defenseless, too _expelled._ But all the Hogwarts students had to be at dinner role call. It would take time before the hospital wing noticed Wesley's absence, but not enough to wait to prepare the knockout drops until after the meal. So it was grudgingly decided she had to be on the greenhouse expedition as she was the only one who had been out onto the grounds, knew the greenhouse layout, and could show them where all the plants were.

Outside. In the fresh air. Desperately trying to act nonchalant, Lucy was dancing on the inside. For a child who grew up running barefoot daily over the New Mexico earth, and who bore the scars to prove it, month after month after month underground, indoors, or on a rooftop was a form of torture all its own.

In short, she'd have worn fishnets and a tutu if it meant a trip outside.

According to the plan Lucy, Nadya, and the second smallest Ivan, were to follow Iskander, skinny boy that he was, through the partially blocked passage, out the cave entrance, up the side of the cliff, and creep under the shadow of the castle to the greenhouse. Fortunately greenhouse 3 guarded the cold weather plants- no doors to break into. But they definitely needed one person to keep the venomous vines hanging over the doorway stunned, one to collect the samples, and one to keep guard.

Simple.

"You can't just give them directions?" Boris asked her again as she laced up a pair of boots borrowed from a third year. This was her third attempt at tying her shoes, which required rather more dexterity in the fingers then she had yet acquired, but the first two attempts had taught him to keep his mouth shut.

"In the dark? To a place they've never seen? From an uncertain starting location? Do you have something _against_ Ivan 8?"

Boris rolled his eyes, and handed her his pocketknife. "That's Ivan 9, by the way."

Lucy dropped the knife, staring at the frail-looking boy, just a little taller than herself. The pale eyes, which had been endearing a few moments ago, now seemed cold and terrifying. "Wait, THAT'S Ivan 9? Isn't that Ivan the T-"

Boris clapped a hand over her mouth before she could be overheard uttering his full moniker Ivan the Terrible. "Don't use that name. Also, no touching and no eye contact. He'll be valuable if there is trouble, but let Nadya deal with him."

Lucy nodded. "No problem."

Boris picked up the pocketknife and slipped it into her pocket.

"You're sure _you_ remember the way to the greenhouses? It has been a long time."

"Nestled against the leeward side of the castle. If it's the side of the cliff Iskander says it is, we really don't have to dash that far."

"And you're sure you understand what to collect?" Constantine raised an eyebrow.

Lucy repeated the instructions for the fifth time.

"Frost moss. Purple, fuzzy, looks like hundreds of tiny Christmas trees, that pop back into their burrows when touched. Pull from the roots. Tears of the Eyes of Demeter: collect the slime flowing along the crease in the eye-shaped leaves. Ew, by the way. And dandelion greens. Do you want fries with that"

Boris fought back a smile. "Dandelion greens," he asked under he breath to Varenka, who was at a table nearby sharpening a knife while three very nervous newts peered at her from a jar.

Varenka shrugged, and pulled a shivering newt out of the jar by its tail, examining the toes critically. "What? I'm sick of porridge and she's going to be out there anyway."

"Varvara Dragomir, we are not risking 3 lives so you can have a salad."

"But-"

"Don't throw a tantrum," he cut his classmate off before she could protest, and bent to slip his communication-lighter into Lucy's back pocket. "Just in case you need to call for help," he whispered in her ear. Straightening, he tugged his black knit hat down over her ears. "In and out as fast as you can, yes?"

Lucy nodded, her fingers crossed (a feat she was quite proud of). She intended to savor her moment under the stars.

"Time to go," Iskander took his cloak from his sister, and lead the little troop into the tunnels.

* * *

Lucy was elbow deep in frost moss when she heard the voices.

She froze, flicking her eyes toward the doorway to the greenhouse, where Nadya, eyes wide, motioned her to stay back.

Who would be out here during dinner anyway? Her eyes slid to the left, to the snapping noises coming from a tray of…fanged forbes.

Damn it all to hell.

That was when she felt it. A familiar energy.

Rasheph. Rasheph was nearby, and he had felt her presence. What had been an accidental brushing of energy had been followed by a brief pause, than a renewed pointed attempt to locate her.

Cursing herself twice over for falling into the lazy habit of not shielding properly whilst living with the Durmstrangers, she threw up her walls. He could no longer sense her accurately, but she could tell he was trying.

_Go away. Go away. Go away. Forbes not ready. Come back tomorrow. Tomorrow. Not tonight. Go away._

In as general and broad a frequency as she could manage, she sent out the message. If she had been her brother, she could have used Empathy to make the strangers feel uncomfortable and desire to leave. As it was, all she could do was try and plant the thoughts in their heads. Except for Rashephs mind, which she was assiduously avoiding.

If they ran away of their own accord, they'd be spared whatever extremely uncomfortable curse Ivan was planning on using to drive them away. She hadn't been able to catch all of it, but she was pretty sure boils and pustules were involved.

She held her breath, not moving an inch until to Nadya finally nodded, beckoning her to the door.

"Straight back the way we came. Follow me. Stay low. Do not look back."

"Ivan?"

"Will be right behind us."

"He didn't-"

Nadya raised an eyebrow. "No. He didn't need to. For some reason they decided to collect tomorrow night."

"Lucky us then."

Nadya gave Lucy a look that said she wasn't buying it, then slipped out the door.

"And for Merlin's sake watch your footing around that thrice-be-damned tree. Ivan can't make it down the cliff without at least _one_ good arm."

"I said I was sorry."

"Be better, not sorry. Now shut up and follow me."

* * *

"A _tree_ did this?" Livka raised her eyebrow as Ivan, staring daggers at Lucy, held out his broken radius for her to mend.

"What kind of idiots planted that thing on the grounds of a school?"

"It's called the Whomping Willow," Lucy offered, as she, clad in a dry uniform, dropped onto the sofa in front of the fire, wiggling her wrinkled, frozen toes towards the flames.

"It's barbaric."

"Don't be an infant Ivan. I can't believe you let it catch you."

"I was pushing _her_ out of the way." Sulking even more under the criticism, Ivan's stare became palpable.

"Thank you again," Lucy offered, a cheerful smile on her face. And was met with nothing but animosity.

"I _told_ you it was stupid to bring her."

"Hey-"

"That greenhouse was a nightmare. Talk about barbarism..there was no logical order at all. We'd have been there all night without her." Nadya recoiled the climbing rope, handed Lucy a dry pair of socks, and stretched languidly, like a cat. "Besides, if you'd followed the directions precisely rather than taking that shortcut, we'd have avoided the Demon tree altogether."

"How was I supposed to know she'd be so clumsy after less than a mile?"

"She's barely been walking two weeks- how did you expect her not to?"

"Hey! I didn't fall _that_ much!"

"Of course you didn't _Luchen'ka_," Nadya patted her on the head absently while swiping her tea cup and draining it. "But it was freezing out. Anyone would slip a time or too."

"But would they slip a time _or four_?" Ivan grumbled.

"Ignore him," Boris whispered in her ear, draping a blanket around her shoulders, "everyone else does."

"I intend to." Lucy swiped her tea cup back, only to find it emptied. Thieving gypsy. "Did the potion work?"

As soon as Iskander had handed a surly Ivan, a cheerful Lucy and an exasperated Nadya back through into the tunnel, the bag of ingredients had been handed off to Rani Harappa, who had raced sure-footed through the darkness to the Chamber so Varenka could brew the potion, and get the Lane brothers back to the castle, as soon as possible.

Lucy, Ivan, and Nadya had been left to stumble after Iskander at a more moderate pace.

"The brewing went smooth enough. Getting him to drink it was another story."

"How come?"

"In addition to involuntary honesty and mild hallucinations, a growing sense of paranoia seemed to be a side effect of Wesley's botched potions skills. He refused to drink it."

"What did you do?"

"We lied."

"And it worked?"

"Out like a drunken gnome. Dimitri and William are hauling him up to the hospital wing as we speak."

"Hail the conquering heroes." Lucy chuckled.

Boris tilted his head and examined her closely. "You're in a good mood."

She was in a good mood. Her feet were still numb with cold, she could barely lift her head off the sofa arm, and her legs felt like someone had shoved splinters through her shins.

She giggled.

"Lucy, you didn't eat anything from that greenhouse did you?"

"Nope," she sighed, content. "But I smelled it."

"Smelled what?"

"Everything. Dirt, and snow, and frost moss." She giggled again, "frost moss is fun to say."

"Frost moss." Boris' face maintained it's trademark stoicism, but Lucy giggled again.

"See? And mystic mint, the trays of over-wintering variegated vulture vines. On our way back we passed greenhouse 6 and I think I caught a whiff of lemons. And thestral dung." She sighed ,"It was magical. But not in a creepy way."

Boris rasied an eyebrow? "Creepy? Magic?"

"Almost always. It's unnatural and godless."

"You're a _witch_."

"I can name a dozen people in the castle above our heads who would disagree with you on that point."

"You were admitted-"

"It's not like there was an entrance exam! Thee wasn't even a human being involved- they use a HAT. The self-same technology that muggles use to entertain children at birthday parties is responsible for admission to this prestigious institution."

"You've grown up with magic."

"_That_ is different. It's natural, grounded in physics and thermodynamics and rules. _This_," she waved her hand about, "is an LSD fever dream from which I will one day awake."

Stiva passed by the fire. "You look in high spirits for someone who should be dead. Ivan told me about the Oafish Oak."

"Whomping Willow," Lucy corrected, heaving herself to her feet. "It was great, the tree went like this," she flung both arms to the left, "and Ivan, went like this, whee!" She overcompensated her swing to the right, and landed in an armchair next to the coffee table.

"Ivan said 'whee'?"

"I think she might be hallucinating. It was a lot to ask of her."

"Luchka, maybe you should go to bed."

Picking herself up, Lucy leaned on the coffee table as she waved an arm dramatically about. "I'm too excited to sleep. I may never sleep again, I think there's some pollen in my nostrils and if I stay awake I can make sure it doesn't dislodge. It smells like…pollen, which is better than cave. I never want it to leave."

"You are going to forgo sleep forever to preserve the pollen in your nose?"

"Yes! No! No, not forever, just until I …leave."

"You're leaving us then?"

"Someday, when I get to wake up and return to a reality where fire is hot and pictures do not move and the staircase is always right where you left it. But not now. Now I just need… something to drink, adventuring is thirsty work and Nadya took my tea."

"Well, gypsies have a reputation for thievery - ow!"

"I hear this!"

Stiva rubbed his head dodging the second volume of 'Spells and Incantations of Ancient Carthage' more successfully than he had the first.

"Ears of a bat, that one."

"And the arm of a Beater. Sit down Lucy, we'll get you some water."

"No need, I found some." She proudly seized a half-empty teacup from the end of the table.

"No!"

Boris and Stiva turned to find Yuri waving his arms in their direction.

"What now?"

CRASH.

The teacup hit the floor a half second before Lucy did.

"So _that's_ how they dosed Wesley."


	14. Chapter 14: The Ties that Bind

**Chapter 14: The Ties That Bind**

_I stand amid the roar  
__Of a surf-tormented shore,  
__And I hold within my hand  
__Grains of the golden sand-  
__How few! yet how they creep  
__Through my fingers to the deep,  
__While I weep- while I weep!  
__O God! can I not grasp  
__Them with a tighter clasp?  
__O God! can I not save  
__One from the pitiless wave?  
__Is all that we see or seem  
__But a dream within a dream?_

~Edgar Allan Poe

When Varvara "Varenka" Dragomir set out to brew knockout drops, by God she brewed them quickly and _potently_. Lucy, like Wesley, was dead to the world instantaneously.

"It's the Tears, allows the potion to be absorbed through the mouth, rather than waiting to be digested in the stomach," she boasted. "Boris, quit taking her pulse."

Varenka slapped his hand away as she slipped Lucy's pillow under her head and brought the blanket from her cot to cover her on the sofa nearest the fire. No one moved, let alone sleep-fought, under the influence of one of Varenka's potions, but she brought the pillow with the silencing charm just in case.

Lucy didn't know Varenka saw her sneak in front of the fire every night and limp back to her bed before the students awoke. But if hiding her nightmares was that important to her, Varenka was going to respect that.

"She's a lot smaller than Wesley, are you sure she didn't take too much?"

"Wesley took more than she did. Gulps his tea, the barbarian."

"And Wesley is going to be sleeping it off under the care of the Hogwarts school nurse. If she stops breathing down here-"

"The potion doesn't work that way. It doesn't slow down your system so much as prolong REM sleep. No impact on respiratory function whatsoever. Now, do you want to compare potions marks, or do something useful, like clean out the cauldrons?"

"I already put Ivan's 3 & 4 on it," Yuri plopped down on the arm of the sofa near Lucy's feet. "She'll be fine. A nice, deep sleep will do her good. She might finally lose the shadows under her eyes," he patted Boris on the back. "Come on, we've got the late shift, time to gather the 'troops.'

Boris lingered, "She doesn't have her hat."

Varenka swore, pulled her own cap off and tugged the wool down around Lucy's ears. "I'll sit with her for an hour, just to make sure."

A smile tugged at the corner of Boris' mouth. "I'm being annoying?"

"Insulting is more like it. The potion is perfectly safe. She'll awake in 36 hours, well rested. And toasty warm."

"Sorry," he tugged the blanket a little further up towards Lucy's chin. "Sweet dreams," he patted her head, then Varenka's, and reluctantly followed Yuri into the tunnels.

* * *

For most people, a long extended REM cycle is a blessing. A respite. A welcome retreat from the horror of the world.

Wesley Lane was enjoying just such an unexpected rest. He spent his unconscious hours frolicking on Bondi Beach with a Veela volleyball team.

Lucy, on the other hand, found herself back in the dark, alone, and without escape.

The words echoed in her head as she lay, gasping on the cold stone floor.

"_You are not the hero of this story."_

She felt hollow, the stone scraped her cheek as she curled into a ball for warmth, her hands, swollen to the size of grapefruits, sang out in pain.

This was wrong. This wasn't the way it was. They broke her hands much later.

She took a deep breath, held it, let it out on a shaky sigh of relief. Dream. It was just a dream. She would wake up. She wasn't there anymore. They had found her, she was safe, she was at Hogwarts, she was with Boris…

She sniffed. She didn't smell Dimka. Dimka had a warm, comforting scent, like woodsmoke. It was a reminder that she was dreaming, because that scent didn't belong in the dark. She would smell it and she would stop dreaming.

She smelled something else. Something that stole her breath. Lillies. She ran her tongue around the inside of her mouth. And her stomach clenched. It was there, the dusty, metallic taste, that, together with the flowery scent, was an unmistakably trace of sleeping toxin. One she'd ingested before.

They'd poisoned her, just like last time.

They'd found her again.

She wasn't _dreaming_. She was _back_.

This was different because it wasn't a memory.

She began to hyperventilate. She didn't seem to have the power to calm her breathing. This was worse than last time, so much worse, because she knew what they would do. She'd barely made it out before, and that was only because she hadn't been capable then of imagining what they would do to her.

Now she could imagine it in graphic detail.

Gasping had given way to sobs of despair. Her shoulders shook and she sucked in breath in horrible, wheezing gulps. She was alone. In the cold and the dark and utterly, utterly alone.

"Who's that?"

For a second she forgot to breathe.

"Who's there? Where am I?"

She swallowed hard. "H-hello?"

"Lucy?'

That was unexpected.

"Lucy, come on, tell me where you are."

Oh God. How had they found him?

"Rasheph?" It came out in a hoarse whisper.

"Yeah, just keep talking, I'm getting closer. Why's it so dark? And cold?"

"How did they find you? I'm sorry, I'm so so sorry."

"What are you-ow!"

"Rasheph?"

"I tripped over…something. Lucy?"

"I'm h-here." Her teeth chattered.

A warm hand awkwardly patted her face. "Right, there you are. Jesus you're freezing."

Her head snapped back at the shock of the warm hand on her temple. Until that moment, she wasn't entirely sure she wasn't merely imagining him.

"W-what are you d-d-d-doing here?" She stammered.

"I could ask you the same thing," Rasheph's voice sounded amused, and he tousled her hair. "Why in Merlin's name did you come back?"

"I didn't exactly have a choice."

"Well, where are you?"

"I'm right here."

"I mean where at Hogwarts?"

"What?"

"No way you could be back at Gryffindor unnoticed… Hogsmeade's beyond my range. Are you in the forest?"

"You're range? What does that have to do with this?"

There was a pause. "Lucy," Rasheph asked slowly, placing his hands on her shoulders, "Do you _know_ where you are?"

"I'm….we're…back. In the …dark."

"The dark…you mean," suddenly both arms came around her and Lucy found herself pulled securely against a flannel covered chest. "Lucy, you are _not_ back _there._ This is just a dream. A _dream_. You pulled me into your head by accident. Think, what's the last thing you remember, where were you?"

She'd been in the Chamber, but she couldn't tell him that. "But…the toxin, I can taste it. Just like last time. They-they used it so I couldn't use my gifts."

Rasheph knew about the poison, Diego had told everyone in Istanbul he could feel his sister was drugged. He sniffed the air. Lillies and dust, with an acidic tang, any second year Ravenclaw would recognize the combination . "It's not a neurotoxin Lucy. Smells like Bellereve Draught, knockout drops. You've been given a sleeping potion, maybe the same one you were given before, but there's no poison added; I know this. No poison. And you know that it hasn't stopped you from using your gifts, because, well, here I am."

Even unconscious and drugged she'd been able to pull him into a nightmare. If she'd had that ability before Diego would have found her in hours.

"Sleeping potion?"

"It's poetic really, this is just like the first time we met."

Only that time he'd pulled her into _his_ nightmare, instead of the other way around.

"You're inside your head Lucy. Now, I don't know where you are physically, but I promise, as soon as I wakeup, I will find you. You won't be left alone."

She hiccupped.

"Lucy? Do you believe me?"

"If you're right," she took a slow and shaky breath, "I should be able to put my shields back up and push you out. You'll wake up in your own head."

And she, she would be stuck in her nightmare alone until the sleeping potion wore off.

As if he was reading her thoughts, which might have been possible considering they were trapped in her subconscious, Rasheph added, "Can't you dream about something a little sunnier?"

"Can't." She hadn't seen the sun in over three months; even if she could escape her dream, she wasn't sure she remembered what color it was.

Rasheph sighed. He couldn't leave her stuck in this room with…whomever that was he'd tripped over, unable to wake up until the potion wore off. From the strength of the smell it would be a good long while.

"Come on then," he pulled her to her feet by the elbow. "You can stay in mine."

Lucy struggled to her feet. "You don't have to do that."

"You, of course, are going to have to tell me what to do, I've only ever done this by accident."

"You really don't-"

"Shut up and get going, Montero. It's freezing in this hell hole."

Lucy sighed, and reached out. She recognized the familiar contours of her mind, and immediately sensed the Other presence, that was Rasheph. She reached out beyond herself, seeking the echo of Rasheph somewhere near.

"Found you," she smiled. "The shields are down, you can go."

Rasheph took her hand. "Follow me then."

There was a disorienting snap, and Lucy found herself under a tree, on a terraced slope, looking out over what appeared to be a tea plantation.

"My great-uncle Sanjay's plantation in Bangalore," Rasheph's voice came from behind her. "It's the warmest place I know."

She turned around, and for the first time in many months, set eyes on her friend.

Rasheph smiled back. "Hello."

She got to her feet, feet that were perfect in every way, just like her hands, and was enveloped in a bear hug.

"We thought you were dead."

"So did I, for awhile."

Rasheph held her out at arms length, studying her. "You look well."

"That's because we're in your head. I look the same as the last time you saw me."

Rasheph frowned. "So, you don't look the same anymore?"

"I'm a little more banged up. And paler," for the first time she noticed her outfit, "and I'm definitely not wearing my school uniform at the moment."

"Well, you can stay here as long as you want," he waved absently at the tropical landscape.

She sank down on soft grass, flinging her arms akimbo and turning her head to take in a deep breath of herbage and earth.

Rasheph sat cross legged, watching her.

"How will you know when the drug has worn off if you are in my dream and not your own?" he picked a blade of grass and tried to whistle.

"There's a fuzziness that accompanies it, like the hum of fluorescent lights. When that stops, I should be able to wake up on my own."

She pillowed her head on her arms and watched a cloud of dragonflies that appeared to be practicing water ballet. "What about you though? You can't sleep all day, won't you get in trouble?"

"Tomorrow's Saturday. I might go unnoticed."

"Mmm," she stretched lazily, kicking off her shoes and socks and curling her toes into the dirt.

"Relax Lucy," Rasheph patted her on the head. "You're safe here. I'm going to go get us some tea."

It was a lie of course, Lucy thought, no more true than that faint yellow ball in the sky was really the sun. No one was ever safe. But at least she was warm.

It had been a long time since Lucy had felt this happy. Many precious hours spent lying under a false sun, drinking tea and playing cricket would do that for any girl, she supposed. Especially one that had been living surrounded by stone walls for months on end. For such was a dream-world that the tea was never bitter, nor cold, and cricket somehow became… entertaining. And she was _good_ at it.

When the fuzziness that heralded the presence of the sleeping draught finally lifted, she left Rasheph dozing under a banyan tree and quietly withdrew to her own mind.

She smelled Dimka and woke immediately. Blinking her eyes, she found the beast was nowhere to be seen. Odd, she'd sworn she smelled him. She was still in front of the fire, but the cavern was silent- so it must be late night or early morning. She took inventory. Her hat, was not her own, and neither was the enormous sweatshirt someone had laid over her. She looked inside the collar. "Kasimierez, B." Well, she'd find him later and return it-

"Shit." She sat straight up, her blood running cold. A phrase that she hadn't quite paid enough attention to in her dream state was now making itself suddenly and horribly clear.

_I don't know where you are, but I promise, as soon as I wakeup, I will find you._

But Rasheph mustn't find her. If he did, the Durmstrangers would be compromised. But, Ravenclaw that he was, if he didn't find her initiallt, he'd just keep looking, most likely get himself caught, and beaten for the attempt, if not worse. Heaven help the BA if Rasheph was given veratiserum! But there was no way he was going to stop, not if he thought she was in trouble. Which, under any other circumstances, would have made her quite proud of him. Now it made her feel queasy.

She tried to reach him with her head, but Rasheph had never been a very good mind-speaker, it was difficult to tell if he was still asleep or just unhearing. Bet was far superior, but alerting Bet would bring yet another person into the fold, and no one was supposed to know she was here. She'd promise not to contact anyone outside the international society.

But apparently, she already had, unconsciously, or was it subconsciously?

Well, in for a penny…. She reached out for Bet.

And found a slumbering consciousness. So it was still night, or rather, night again. She must have slept for at least a day. Rasheph wouldn't walk about after curfew, surely? He might yet be asleep. It gave her a few hours to think about the least disastrous way to fix the situation. She could try and force her way back into his head- except that she'd made him re-shield and breaking in might very well put him in a coma.

She could simply find him, assure him she was all right, without revealing where she had come from. Rasheph would be assured, the Durmstrangers would be safe, and she'd get out of the cursed basement.

As long as no one saw her, it was perfect.

She needed to NOT be in a Durmstrang uniform for starters. She opened her pillowcase, where all her possessions were stored, and found her clothes from the greenhouse expedition. That took care of everything but the shoes, which were technically Durmstrang issue.

She'd have to go in her socks. The pants were long enough to cover the fact that she wasn't wearing shoes. At least she'd be quiet.

She wrapped Dimitri's scarf around her neck. It partially covered her face, and in the current school climate, if she was going to be noticed, a Slytherin was less likely to be harassed.

Now all she had to do was get out.

Sneaking out of a Durmstrang sealed cavern was not exactly like trying to break into Fort Knox, but it wasn't as simple as strolling out the door either. The main entrance by which Dimitri and Marguerite and the rest of them entered would be guarded.

One guard she could handle. The trick was to do it quietly.

She checked for the rangers, the guards that circled the cavern, and could just make out a pair turning at the far end, headed back her direction. She curled herself up in a ball on the sofa, clutching her extra clothes to her chest, pulling the blanket over her head, and letting her right arm peek out under the edge of the blanket. Calming her breathing, she forced herself to wait until they had completed a full three circuits, passing her in her new sleeping position. After the third pass, she silently slid out from under the blanket, used her extra clothes and the pillow to create a Lucy sized lump, then covered it up. She crept off toward the side tunnel, slowly following the rangers as they moved away from her, before sliding into the cover of the tunnel leading to the exit.

The ladder that lead up and out was at the end of a sloping, curving narrow passage that broke off the watery tunnel. Lucy bit her lip, and cautiously hovered above the tiny stream until she reached the passage. Wet footprints were not what she needed. She slowly crept around the bend, praying the guard tonight wasn't Boris.

It wasn't. It was Yuri. She swallowed hard. She wished it wasn't.

"Yuri," she announced herself softly as she came around the corner.

"She lives," Yuri smiled. "You give us small scare Luchka. Next time you will not be drinking tea not your own, yes?" He still spoke English with her, even after her Russian had improved to passable.

"Definitely not."

Yuri nodded. "This is good. But why here? You sleeps all day and are now awake?"

"Something like that."

"I give you muchest sympathies, but you should go. Constantine does not like distractions for guards."

Lucy nodded. "Yuri, I need to go into the castle."

Yuri snorted. "Very funny Luchka. All that dirt smelling go to your eyes, yes?"

"I'll be hidden, but there is something I have to do or someone is going to get hurt. Let me out."

Yuri's smile vanished. "Lucy, no. Is impossible."

"I'm not going to be gone for long. I have to, Yuri." She moved towards the ladder.

When Yuri grabbed her hand to stop her, she used to connection to seize his mind. She needed him to do two things: let go, and forget she was ever there. She quickly located the channels feeding the sympathetic nervous system, the flight or fight response, and stilled it. His grip relaxed, his eyes closed. She carefully stepped away without releasing his mind. She climbed the ladder until she was nearly out of sight. Erasing memories was harder. And she wouldn't risk damage to Yuri, so she'd have to settle for stunning the short term memory center. He wouldn't remember much for a few days, but he also wouldn't lose consciousness. Leaving the Chamber without authorization was going to be hard enough to explain if she got caught. Leaving it unguarded was, for a Durmstrang, unforgivable.

She was silently creeping up the ladder shaft, well out of sight, when she released Yuri. He'd think he'd dozed off for a moment, and wouldn't remember seeing her until it was too late.

The ladder shaft Lucy climbed ran parallel to the chute from the vanishing step in the dungeon staircase, but after a few minutes it was clear that it extended much farther up than the original passage. Her hands ached from the unaccustomed effort. Her palms grew slick with sweat, and her breathing became ragged. Just when she was contemplating trying to go back down, she saw a chink of light in the wall in front of her. She used her knee to gently push the stone, which slid forward, then nudge it to the side.

On her hands and knees, she crawled out into a dimly lit stone chamber. It was narrow, and extended off to her left farther than the light could penetrate. To her right, a blurry window peaked out into the hall. She moved closer, and squinted to make out the image on the other side. She was on the fourth floor, not far from the library.

The mirror, she was looking out of the mirror on the fourth floor. The twins had spoken of it once, ages ago, lamenting the fact that the passage behind her was caved in somewhere and no longer lead to Hogsmeade.

She carefully moved the stone back in place. No need for anyone following her up the ladder to know which floor she had ended up on.

She slipped into the corridor and headed for the library.

* * *

Rasheph awoke all at once to the sound of a door slamming shut. He'd been dreaming, about his Uncle Sanjay's tea plantation and all of a sudden had realized Lucy wasn't there with him. He was equal parts thrilled and horrified. Happy that she was alive, very happy, in fact, since it might snap Lynx out of his depression, but also horrified that she was clearly trapped somewhere dark, and alone.

"Awake at last, are we Radu?" Sergei Petrov chuckled. "You know you slept the entire day away? Half the house thinks you were drunk, the other half drugged. Which story would you like me to encourage?"

"I had to supervise the greenhouses on Friday, you moron." Rasheph pretended to rub an aching head. "Between the Salamander Seed poisoning and the smoke inhalation, I was sucking down the treatment tonic like it was mother's milk."

Sergei raised en eyebrow, "Salamander Seed Treatment Tonic is mostly grain alcohol."

Radu grimaced, "And thank Merlin for it. Seeing as it was Saturday I didn't think I'd be missed." He paused, and added softly, "Was I?"

Sergei shook his head. "No. None of the staff noticed a thing. Probably assumed you were still on greenhouse duty, you've been all week."

"A responsibility I would happily hand over if you're offering."

"You want to supervise the punitive potions sessions?" Sergei waved at him with his bandaged hand, still healing from a chemical fire the day before.

"Never mind."

"At least come down and eat something. You looked half dead."

"In a minute." In a minute he was going to start searching for Lucy. The dungeons, he'd start there. Damn, he should have swapped with Sergei after all, it would give him a fine excuse. He was heading to the door to call him back when an image hit him so strongly he swayed on his feet, gripping the door frame for balance.

It was the Ravenclaw private library. Why was he thinking of it now? He needed to get to the dungeons.

BAM! Again, the image forced it's way to the front of his mind.

He shook his head, as if to dislodge it physically. Lucy? Why on earth would she-

BAM! This was beginning to get annoying. All right, library it was. Convenient, really. No one questioned Ravenclaws entering the library.

As the masses headed towards the Great Hall, Rasheph followed along, pausing before he turned towards the library when he saw a white blond head emerging from the passage leading past the kitchens.

He had a great idea.

* * *

"You deprive me of breakfast to bring me to the library? Bet's right, you know, Ravenclaws really are far, far more demented than Slytherins."

Rasheph's said nothing as they moved swiftly down the aisle to the dullest, least used part of the library.

Lynx eyed the titles. "A History of 'Hogwarts a History'? Books about books? You're killing me Radu. Listen, I know you all have this grand romantic notion about the nourishing power of knowledge and all that, but trust me when I say that Santa Clause does not exist, Nargle's are not real, and man can not subsist solely on the written word."

"Be quiet, will you? Honestly, my little sister Anjali whines less than you."

"I need food."

In the middle of the appropriate shelf, Rasheph quickly pushed and pulled books closer to or farther from the edge in what appeared to be a haphazard fashion, until he heard the tell tale woosh of fresh air. A delicate push and the entire frame seemed to swing outward, without disturbing a trace of the dust and cobwebs that kept it so well concealed.

Lynx, who had never seen the private library before, sputtered. He trotted back down the aisle and looked down the next row, which was perfectly ordinary. The entrance seemed to open into thin air.

"How?"

"It's bigger on the inside."

"Huh?"

"The library is a partially existential phenomenon, now get in."

Rasheph rolled his eyes, let Lynx gape, and entered ahead of him.

He looked around, considered how stupid he was going to look if this all turned out to be, in fact, a dream.

Then he saw her emerge from hiding behind one of the private bookcases.

"Got my message?" She blinked at him, a smile hiding at the corner of her mouth.

"Subtle, as ever."

She hadn't been lying about the "tan", her skin was paler than usual. Except for the reddish pair of sickle shaped scars that ran from eyebrow to chin on either side of her face... And there was something wrong with her left foot, it twisted in at the ankle…

But she was alive. Alive. He picked her up in a bear hug and swung her around. "You're really here." He held her away to better examine her face. "How-"

Before he could question her further she stiffened in his arms, her eyes starting over his shoulder.

Lynx had entered the room.

He felt Lucy sigh. "Oh, thank God, you're all right," she breathed.

Those words seemed to snap Lynx out of his library/Lucy-induced torpor. "_I'm_ all right?"

Lucy's face crumpled. "I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry."

She broke free of Rasheph and limped over to Lynx, grabbing his hand between hers. "I should have seen it sooner, I should have sent for help. I should have realized that when you got knocked out-"

"What's happened to your hands?" Lynx's voice was cold. That alone gave Rasheph a start, before he came closer to examine Lucy's deformed hands.

Lynx was carefully picking them up, drawing them forward when she tried to hide them in the pocket of her sweatshirt, examining each crooked finger.

Rasheph examined her other hand. "Who did this?"

She turned to him, and there was something in her eyes he couldn't quite place, she opened her mouth to reply when Lynx replied for her.

"I did. I did this."

Her head whipped back around, horror in her eyes. "What? No! You had _nothing _to do with this. You weren't there." She gave Rasheph a puzzled, furtive glance then shook her head and added in an undertone. "He wasn't there either, that was a dream."

Lynx shook his head. "I started the fire, I g-got you expelled, I'm the reason you were in prison. They wouldn't have got to you-"

"Oh for the love of God," Lynx was taller than Lucy, but she used every ounce of her remaining strength to pull him down to her level and throw her arms around him, holding in firmly, rubbing his back as if she were soothing a frightened child after a nightmare.

"The _fire_ started," she sighed against his hair, "because I didn't want to watch Rasheph play Quidditch anymore -sorry Rasheph- , because I was too lazy to wait to see you in the hospital wing, and because I then stupidly left open flames around a concussed fire-starter.

"I got _expelled_ because Severus Snape is an ass.

"I went to _jail _because the Ministry is corrupt and I ended up…in trouble because it became corrupter still. None of which you had any control over." She gave him a shake, looking over his shoulder to where Rasheph was leaning against the wall.

"Is this why you brought him?"

The Ravenclaw nodded. "He's been blaming himself all this time, and moping somewhat fierce."

"Have not," the younger boy protested, although his voice cracked as he said it, and his arms came around Lucy, hugging her back, fiercely.

"It's all right," she patted his back. "I'm fine."

Lynx pulled back and gave her a look, raising an eyebrow.

Lucy shrugged, "Well, you should see the other guy."

"Are you _out of your mind_? What are you doing here?"

Lucy and Lynx broke apart and turned to see Bet closing the door behind her.

"Hello?" Lucy offered.

Bet rolled her eyes, pulling Lucy into a hug. "You're impossible, you know this?"

"Good to see you too, Bethany."

Bet stepped back, looking her up and down. "Of course we're happy to know you're not dead. But really, a note would have been sufficient. Do you realize-"

"Things have changed since I left? Yes, I'm sorry to hear it."

"Then what are you doing-"

Lucy grimaced. "I can't tell you. That's why I wanted you to come," she turned back to Rasheph, "I didn't want you to get in trouble looking for me and I can't tell you where I'm staying."

"Why would Rasheph be looking for you?"

Lynx's head snapped up. "I smell muffins."

Bet, it turned out, had received an image from Rasheph, and had prudently decided to bring food with her. While Lynx devoured most of the food, they settled onto a sofa and Rasheph and Lucy explained the events of the previous 36 hours.

"So you were drugged, but you're not in trouble?"

"It was more of an accidental ingestion, and I'm fine. I just can't tell you any more than that."

"You've been here awhile, haven't you? That's what we were sensing in the greenhouse," she looked to Rasheph.

"Probably. Your shields are also a bit lax. You need to be focusing more."

"Aaaand she's back," Lynx grumbled in between mouthfuls of muffin. But he was smiling as he did so.

"What about Magnus, and Agatha, are they all right?"

Bet nodded. "Our room was discovered, obviously, but what the fire didn't ruin, Agatha managed to smuggle out before anyone came to investigate. We haven't found a safe place to meet regularly since, so Rasheph has been taking care of Magnus."

"And Agatha?"

"Has largely been muddling through on her own- OW!" Rasheph rubbed his foot where Lynx had trod on it.

"Well, Lynx tries to help some."

"Fortunately Agatha's remarkable bright for a Hufflepuff. It's just a matter of keeping her-"

"Focused." Lucy grinned, "good luck with that."

"So you're not back then?" Bet asked.

"Too dangerous for me to be in the castle. But I'll be within range of both you and Rasheph. Possibly Agatha. If you need me."

"You shouldn't be." Lynx muttered.

"Lynx!"

"Well she shouldn't! Do you have any idea what this place is like now? You should get as far away as you can."

"Fine, come with me."

The three stared at her in shock.

"I'm serious. If you three, and Agatha, and Magnus all come with me, I'll leave."

"I can't leave Anjali."

"I'm not abandoning the Quidditch team."

"Or my brother."

Lucy shrugged. "And I'm not abandoning you. You're the only Espiritus left. Espiritu is my family- I left it once, and they weren't there when I got back. I'm not making that mistake again. So we're all going to ride this out, whatever it is. Together."

Lynx looked at her carefully. "And Diego was all right with this plan?"

Lucy snorted. "Diego _detested_ this plan."

"Then how-"

"We managed to convince him that it was the best way to keep Zahra alive."

"And that worked, sending you off?"

"He's an empath. _The_ Empath, potentially, and he has had the responsibility he bears drilled into him since childhood. He can't function with his heart cleaved in two, and with Zahra he's stronger. He survived without me when our school was attacked and we each thought the other had died. He survived losing me, twice, in the operating room in February. And we both know if it had been Zahra in my place the rage alone would have killed or incapacitated three city blocks. Safer for everyone this way."

"You're not serious."

Lucy nodded somberly. "Any empath in love is 'one with whom you do not fuck'. To use Victor's expression. An empath with the power my brother has? The consequences don't bear thinking about."

Bet sighed. "So I guess you're our responsibility then?"

Lucy grinned. "Like I said, we look after each other."

"Which should probably start with us getting a move on. Passing time for classes starts in a few minutes. Lucy- God's teeth woman, where are your shoes?"

"I didn't have any appropriate ones."

Bet rolled her eyes. "I don't know what that means."

"Never you mind."

They slipped quietly out of the library. Lucy made them all leave ahead of her, standing in the hallway watching them turn the corner and waiting several moments to ensure they didn't double back to follow her to her hiding place. Then she swiftly ducked behind the mirror, and waited a full five minutes for good measure. All she observed through the cloudy window was traffic of students to classrooms, no sign of the BA.

Satisfied, she took a breath, and fumbled her way towards the ladder.

This wasn't going to be pleasant.

Her arms still exhausted from the ascent, and not in any particular hurry to deal with whatever awaited her in the basement, she descended slowly, resting frequently.

She'd managed to steal a pie from Bet's stash before Lynx devoured it, and she savored the once-despised British staple. And the peppermint that Lynx had stuffed into her pocket when he hugged her goodbye. She had three more, but she was planning on saving them. She'd never liked peppermints before, but after a steady diet of Easy-Spell Oven goo, they tasted like heaven.

Lynx had shown off how when you crunched them in the dark, they made little green sparks.

Muggle lifesavers did the same thing, but the sparks from a normal spearmint didn't also cause one's hair to glow green, and do a little dance. The Hufflepuff had looked like a merman.

That image was still in her head as she abruptly realized she'd reached the bottom of the ladder, when a hand on her shoulder that spun her about.

To face Boris.


	15. Chapter 15: Sparks in the Dark

**Chapter 15: Sparks in the Dark**

"_It is more shameful to distrust our friends than to be deceived by them." _

― Confucius

Boris had on his inscrutable face. He took Lucy's appearance in, from her head to her stocking-clad feet.

"Are you hurt?" His tone, as usual, revealed nothing.

"No. Look-"

"Good. Now shut up and follow me." He paused, "What's that smell?"

Lucy smiled, showing the peppermint clamped between her teeth.

She dug into her pocket, "I've got three more, want one?" She was not beyond bribery at this point.

She thought, perhaps, the corner of Boris' mouth may have lifted a fraction of an inch, but he said nothing, just pulled her in front of him and headed back towards the Chamber. He kept a firm grip on her wrist, guiding her swiftly through the tunnels, without turning around, without saying a word.

If she thought this was awkward it was nothing compared to her reception in the main cavern. Or rather, lack thereof. No one would meet her gaze. Backs were turned, younger students shepherded to farther corners of the cavern.

The only ones who were looking at her were the members of the Opolchenie, and they looked furious.

She bit her lip, limping to keep up with Boris's long stride as he brought her before them, clustered at the head of the basilisk skeleton.

"I didn't-" the rest of the words froze in her throat as Boris took his place next to Stiva and she got her first well-lit look on his face. He was angry, but there was something else that had made her stomach twist.

Constantine was the only one who spoke. "From now on, you will be under 24 hour supervision. A student will be assigned to you at all times. Anything you need, you will have to speak to me directly."

"Why you?"

"Because no one else is allowed to speak to you."

"What-"

"We trusted you." He bit the words out, his eyes burning. "Boris sponsored you in, and I backed him up. No one can remember the last time we took such risks, and then you-"

By now the guilt Lucy had felt on the walk back had nearly evaporated, replaced by a familiar feeling of being unjustly persecuted. The last time she'd felt it her vocal chords had been charmed silent and she'd had no means of venting her frustration. This time was different. They may be mute, but the students shunning her were not deaf.

"And then I… what? Got you out? Saved your lives? Even after you nearly choked me to death in my pajamas?" She noticed several sharp intakes of breath and a few moments of unguarded surprise on the faces of the younger students who needed to brush up on their shunning.

She raised an eyebrow at Constantine. "What? You didn't tell them that part? The Great Constantine Golernishev nearly murders a girl half his size for no reason. I'd call that a pretty big fucking betrayal, and yet I managed to get over it, get you all out, and then stand outside in a _blizzard_ waiting for you to get back from some super-secret mission that I was never told about. I'm never told, I'm just supposed to go along with whatever you decide!"

"What we decided was for the _protection _of all of us, including you. You going into the castle _compromised_ us, _all_ of us. All of _them_," he flung an arm out towards the rest of the Durmstrang student body, who were all suddenly trying desperately to act as if they couldn't hear every single word being said.

"I did nothing of the kind! No one saw-"

"Someone could have. You took that risk without consulting any of us."

"There wasn't any time! There were people out there that needed me."

Constantine sighed. "I'm sure you think that's true. But be honest with yourself, Christ, _look_ at yourself Lucy. What could anyone possibly need from _you_?"

There was tense and painful silence. Lucy's chest was still heaving up and down as her breathing hadn't yet recovered from the exertion of her adventure and the ensuing shouting match. The sound of her ragged breathing echoed in their corner of the Chamber.

Constantine grew bored before Lucy grew calm. He rolled his eyes and continued as Lucy stared daggers at the floor. "Dimitri will be down tomorrow. Until then you are not to leave the cavern. If you try to leave on your own, you will be restrained."

"_Vete a La Chingada,"_ she muttered, as Constantine turned to lead the Opolchenie away.

As if choosing not to hear her, Constatine turned to Stiva to arrange the daily security detail, and Lucy, seeing that the younger students had overtaken the sofa that had previously been _her_ warm spot by the fire, marched off to her cot, chin in the air, a 2nd year, Raisa, five paces behind.

* * *

Sleep did not come easy to the shunned. Her righteous anger kept her awake, only to fall into a restless sleep plagued by nightmares. Since the shunning seemed to extend to the mudryvolk as well, there was no friendly warm coat to bury her face into upon awaking. She couldn't remember anything about the dream, again. Just a voice, and the fear, and the cold, cold dark. She woke up screaming, her clothes drenched in sweat. She swung her legs over the edge of the cot, and searched for her slippers. A movement near the fire caught her eye- another guard. Yakiv, a husky 5thyear with acne, was watching the fire. She'd rather freeze than let him see her in her current state. There was nothing left to do but curl up in her damp clothes and try to sleep in-between bouts of shivering.

She didn't know what she was supposed to do. Constantine wasn't going to relent until she told him what she had been up to in the castle. Telling him about the BA was out of the question. And telling the BA that she was being shunned by Durmstrangs in the basement was also not an option. She was on her own.

She wanted her brother.

It was a childish impulse, a moment of weakness. It was also out of the question.

It would not only put them both, not to mention Zahra, in danger, but Diego'd be unbearably smug about having warned her this was a bad idea.

Silence she could endure. But if her brother ever found out about this he'd never shut up. And his recent power surge since meeting Zahra had already inflated his ego quite enough.

She shivered, pulling the thin blanket closer around her. The whole situation was strangely familiar- it felt a lot like nighttime on the cell block. Of course, she'd had the thief next door to talk to in prison. And the lovely baritone across the way, the tenors on the floor below…

She tried, as a rule, not to think of her fellow inmates. Were they all still alive? Were any of them, at this moment, experiencing what she had in the dark? Were all they still on the block? Was there a new person in her cell?

She hoped they were together, wherever they were.

"Swing low, sweet chariot. Coming for to carry me home…." It didn't have the same sense of defiance it had on the cell block, since the sound spell kept anyone from hearing her, but the song was relaxing.

"Nobody knows, the trouble I've seen, nobody knows my sorrow…"

Safe in her bubble, she went through every song she knew while life in the Chamber went on around her.

She was on her third rendition of "We shall overcome" when something warm and covered with feathers smacked her square in the chest, knocking her back on her pillow. Her ears were suddenly filled with the sound of "My Girl".

"What the hell?" Her arms were full of… feathers? Blissfully warm feathers, that seemed to be burrowing into her sweatshirt.

She pulled the fluttering mass away from her chest, to meet the gaze of a small, scruffy phoenix.

"Sp-sp-Sparks?" She blinked, staring at what could only be her science project, grinning at her, if birds could grin. The music he created, or rather, copied off the radio, was certainly happy.

"Hi," was all she could manage, her throat felt oddly choked, and she buried her face in Sparks' feathers. It would be absurd to cry. He was a bird. He was a pet, not a friend.

The Beatles' "Hello" was her reply.

She brought her head up sharply, quickly casting about to see if anyone had noticed. Between the dark and the soundproofing, Sparks' arrival seemed to have gone unnoticed.

"You have to stay hidden, do you understand me?" Phoenix's were smart by nature, but Sparks was a runt; he was smaller, and less musically talented than a healthy bird, and she wasn't sure if his comprehension was as sophisticated as, say, Fawkes' had been.

"I don't know how they're going to react to you, and they don't like me at the moment, so we aren't going to risk it."

How did she hide what appeared to be a tiny, reddish-orange chicken? She lay back down, Sparks contentedly burrowing under the covers against her chest. She'd forgotten the precise body temperature of an adult phoenix, but "toasty" seemed to cover it. It was like snuggling with a hot water bottle.

"I sometimes scream in my sleep," she sighed. "Whatever you do, don't fly off if you get scared, the mudryvolk might eat you. Hide under the cot, in the slippers." Those dragon slippers seemed to be as irritated with her as the rest of the school. She'd go barefoot before she put them on again, so they might as well serve a purpose.

She drifted off to sleep to the sound of Bob Marley singng, "Don't worry, 'bout a thing. Every little thing, gonna be alright…"

* * *

By the next afternoon she was ready to tear her hair out. She could deal with the bad food, the cold and damp conditions, and the lack of any natural light. But an entire school of children managing to instantly and flawlessly behave as if she didn't exist was disturbing on a number of levels as well as maddening on a personal one.

She'd bundled Sparks under her sweatshirt, taken her pillow and blanket, and, followed at a discreet distance by the guard of the hour, a thin humorless girl named Galina, camped out at the farthest end of the cavern, putting as much distance as possible between herself and the rest of the students.

It made the shunning less noticeable. Mostly because there was no one about shun.

It also meant that every one of her minders had to cross a large and deep puddle at shift change. Which was petty and extremely satisfying.

She worked on her physical therapy, flexing and building strength in her fingers, until her hands ached too much to continue. She stretched her left leg to try and regain as much flexibility as possible.

And she began to Practice once more. She'd barely had the courage, after her rescue, to use even the most basic of her Gifts. Only when absolutely necessary, had been her rule, which had the unpleasant side effect of requiring much more concentration because she'd become rusty. Very rustly, judging by how long it had taken her to recover from gating Durmstrang. That was the kind of exertion where you ought to stretch first.

If she was going to be around the BA, she needed to set a better example. Telekinesis, the most physical, brute force of the gifts, would be the easiest. She set herself a small task that would require concentration and force.

She untied Galina's boots. Then retied them. Then tied them again. Double knotted them. She pulled on the bottom loop to tighten the laces until the girl began to shift uncomfortably.

A small smile of contentment formed in the corner of Lucy's mouth. The Durmstrang discipline would not allow Galina to relax from her alert posture to retie her shoes. Her feet were going to be numb by the time the replacement came.

Of course, none of this was Galina's fault, technically. Lucy sighed, released the laces, then lay down on the floor, pulled her blanket around her, and took a nap.

With any luck, there would be another female sentry on duty when she awoke. Braiding hair was a wonderful exercise.

* * *

It was the middle of the night when Boris got off watch. With the tunnels seeming to expand every day, the circuits grew longer and longer. But he felt better knowing they had found alternate means of escape.

He tapped Stiva on the shoulder.

Stiva, who had the freakish capability of half sleeping, like a shark, came alert so smoothly, one had to look carefully to note he had been asleep at all.

"Find anything new?"

"Lake isn't completely frozen."

"Good news for us."

"You?"

"She hasn't moved an inch." Stiva inclined his head toward the dark and shadowy end of the cavern.

"It's got to be freezing over there."

"Well, the lookouts have more sense than to complain, but they've all come straight off duty to the fireplace for a good ten minutes."

"And I thought _you _were stubborn."

"I'll ignore that. Did you get the thing?"

Boris patted his backpack.

"Good. Iskander has the watch?"

"Yes."

"I'm off then. G'Night old man."

Boris strode purposefully across the cavern, wincing when his foot plunged into an icy, but very well hidden puddle.

He nodded once to Oskar, the 5th year on duty, then gave him the hand signal to stand down and go to bed.

The grateful boy didn't need to be told twice.

With a sigh, Boris looked down at Lucy.

She was such a little thing. You could forget it when she was talking to you, or when they were both sitting down; but standing over her while she slept made her seem surprisingly small. She was curled in a ball, the blanket pulled up over her head, taking up less space than she should.

He crouched down, his hand poised to shake her awake, when his ears were suddenly filled with muffled screams. They were the panicked, keening moans of someone terrified and in pain.

He snatched the blanket away to find Lucy not simply curled about the pillow, but her face buried in it, partially smothering the sounds, her body soaked in sweat.

She must have been at this some time.

The soundproofing spell, he swore, how could he have forgotten it?

He gently placed his hands on her shoulders and shook.

"Lucy, Lucy you're dreaming, wake up."

Her shoulders stiffened, and she turned her face up. "Boris?"

He sighed, relieved. She'd stopped crying. Good. "Yes. It's me. Now get up."

Scrubbing her hands over her face, Lucy pushed herself up until she was sitting back on her heels, looking up at him.

"That's not the way you're supposed to talk to someone who just had a nightmare, you know."

"It isn't? What makes you the expert?"

"I babysat elementary schoolers for three months. I know all about nightmares."

"You wake them up. The nightmare ends."

"You're supposed to be nice about it." Lucy frowned. "You should ask Dimka, he's good at it."

"How would you know?" Boris frowned.

Leaning back against the wall, Lucy slowly came fully awake. "I'm pretty out of it, but I'm fairly sure I hate you. And I'm very sure you're not allowed to speak to me."

"Handy that we're in your cone of silence now, isn't it?"

"That answers one question."

"Get up, follow me, don't speak until I tell you, and I'll explain the rest."

Without another word, he turned and headed back across the cavern.

Wide awake, with nothing else to do, Lucy covertly arranged Sparks under her sweatshirt, pulled the blanket about her shoulders, tucked the pillow under her arm and plodded after him.

He lead her into those tunnels opposite the set that entered the castle, the same set that had led out on the greenhouse expedition; a dark and damp labyrinth that Iskander had been mapping and mysterious groups of "patrols" emerged from and disappeared into on a regular basis. Boris' wand provided just enough light to make way, and Lucy stumbled along behind him for ten minutes before he suddenly stopped.

There was a scraping sound, and then her hand was enveloped by a large, calloused palm.

"Mind your head," he cautioned as he pulled her through a narrow opening into…

She wasn't sure. She could hear the echoes of water lapping, and something else.

"Is that the wind?"

Boris kept a hold of her hand, drew her forward a few paces, then tugged her down to sit.

Then he noxed his wand.

He felt her tense, as the cavern went dark, and gave her hand a squeeze.

"Let your eyes adjust, give it a few moments."

Lucy sighed. "In America, this is what happens right before someone gets whacked."

"What?"

"This is how the mafia kills you and dumps you into the East River."

"That isn't the river."

"A hint, comrade: most people would have led with 'I'm not the mafia.'"

Boris sighed. "We aren't here to drown you."

"Then why? You aren't even supposed to be talking to me, what is this all about?"

"This," Boris rummaged in his backpack, "is about the fact that you're sitting in your socks."

"What?"

"Your socks, Lucy." Boris ran a hand over his head. "You climbed the damned ladder up into the castle and back _without shoes_."

"And that's why you're speaking to me."

She heard a groan of frustration.

Boris crouched down in front of her. "Did you ever wonder about PT?"

"PT? The running?"

"And the obstacle course, the climbing, the strength training. You never questioned how much time we spent training non-magically in very cold weather."

"Well, that's because it's insane. But as a guest, I thought it rude to point that out."

She heard his chuckle, warm and low. "There is a reason for it. Something vital to our survival that Hogwarts students don't require."

"A low resting heart rate?"

"Discipline. It's been at the heart of the school curriculum for centuries. It bonds the students together into a unit, built on trust, strength, and obedience. We've survived wars, revolutions, plagues, the elements, time and again because of the trademark Durmstrang discipline. To go against it, or worse, to ignore it, is to turn our back on the school itself."

"I didn't 'turn'."

"I know you didn't, Lutchka. And so does Constantine."

"He does?"

"And Varenka, and Stiva and Yuri. You didn't betray us, but you broke discipline, you violated protocol. And if the rest of the school saw that go unpunished, we'd all be weakened."

"I had to be shunned as a matter of _principle_?"

"As punishments go, it's mild but extremely effective. Particularly for you, which was why I recommended it."

"You! You told them to do this?"

"A long time ago. I sponsored you in, remember? I had to vouch for your trustworthiness, and take responsibility for any damage you might cause. Part of that responsibility required that I share with the Opolchenie everything relevant I knew about your abilities, your strengths and weaknesses, and the best ways to keep you in line."

"If you were responsible, why did _they_ need to know this?"

"In case I died." Boris answered matter of factly.

Lucy swallowed, hard. The idea of Boris dead made her mouth go a bit dry. It was easy to forget how fragile life at Durmstrang had been. And of course, even with all their plans, Anna had still died.

"How do you know, for certain, that I didn't betray you?"

"For the record, I never believed you would."

"Right."

A strong hand took hold of her jaw and turned her to face him.

"I'm serious, Lutchka. That's why, when we realized you were missing, I volunteered to wait for you to return." He didn't add how nerve wracking _that_ had been, not knowing if she'd been snatched or if she had any intention of ever returning in the first place. "I didn't want any of the others to…they were all pretty upset. But I had no proof until the minute I saw you."

"It was too late to change anything after you came down the ladder, they had already given the order, and it was only at that moment that I saw your feet. And the rest of what you were wearing."

"This is about _my outfit_?"

"You picked your clothes so that none of it could be traced back to us, didn't you?" Boris' met her gaze with uncharacteristic intensity. "Everything you were wearing was of Hogwarts origin. But they didn't bring you any shoes for the greenhouse expedition, and your boots were Durmstrang uniform issue. So you left the boots and went in your socks."

Lucy didn't say anything.

"You still took an incredibly stupid risk, going upstairs, you know this?"

"I didn't have-"

"My point, is that whatever reason you had, the only person you put at risk was yourself. _You_ made sure of that. Even if it meant creeping about without shoes. Speaking of," Boris tossed something at her feet, "Gisella from Hufflepuff sent these.

It was a pair of Converse sneakers in black.

"Not that this should be interpreted as an endorsement to sneak about again."

Lucy stared at the shoes. She'd promised herself she wasn't taking anything from them again.

"You didn't put us at risk, and, in fact, went to considerable effort to protect us. Didn't you?"

"The slippers bite."

She made no move to take the shoes.

Boris sighed, and ran a hand over his close-cropped hair.

"I'm sorry."

Lucy looked up. "For what?"

"For making you think I didn't trust you. I do. Always have. But I'm sorry that playing along with Constantine's plan to "discipline" you caused you to doubt that."

There was a silence.

"Now is the part where you say you're sorry."

"Me? I thought we established that I didn't' let any school secrets-"

"Not for that. This is when you apologize for whatever you did to Yuri," he raised an eyebrow, daring her to deny it, "and for scaring me to death."

Lucy, surprised, peered at Boris' face in the early morning light. "You were worried about me? That's actually kind of sweet."

"Not you, I was scared for _me_! You came with instructions, remember?" He whipped the well-creased envelope out of his pocket and waved it at her. "They happen to be quite explicit as to the consequences if I misplace you. Or return you damaged."

"Let me see that." Lucy hopped to her feet and tried to snatch the envelope.

"Absolutely not, there's a penalty for that too and it sounds extremely unpleasant." It was pathetically easy for Boris to hold the envelop out of reach. Eventually Lucy gave up and settled for a halfhearted pout.

Boris grinned. "Am I forgiven now?," he teased.

Lucy rolled her eyes, but nodded and found herself pulled into a hug. Emotionally and physically too exhausted to do anything else, she let her cheek rest against Boris's chest and sighed. "I'm going to get a look at those instructions eventually", she added, watching the light play on the water.

Boris felt it the moment Lucy saw it. She went very still, stiffened, and was then struggling out of his hold like a fish on a hook. He let her go with a sigh.

"It's light. That's light. That's…those are the boats. The firsty boats." She looked around in the dim. They were away at the back of the flooded cavern, the crawlway through which they had entered was hidden behind a cage of stalgmites and stalactites. But through the gaps one could see across the cavern, to the little beach, with the boats, and the stone stair that lead up to the grounds. And beyond the mouth of the cavern…daylight. The milky gray color of daylight.

Boris was checking his watch and rummaging in his pack again.

"It can't shine directly in, not with the mountains it has to clear, but when the water is calm it hit's the surface just outside, so Stiva and I hid a mirror on that far wall…." He handed her a spyglass, turned her to face the proper wall.

"Along that shelf, got it?"

There was, she saw through the glass, a mirror, facing out of the cave and tilted down, reflecting gray and dun and-

"Wait for it."

"For what?"

"Keep your eyes on the mirror, it goes quick."

An eternity. And then a bright red ball of light.

"Is that?"

She could hear the smile in Boris' voice. "Good morning."

For the first time that year, she saw the sun. Well, a reflection, of a reflection of the sun. Which was more than anyone living underground could honestly expect to find.

It didn't last long, the sun rose higher, became yellower, and disappeared from the mirror, while the cavern grew lighter at the far end near the beach, and their shelf stayed hidden in the twilight-like gloom. But she was grinning when she finally tore her eyes away from the telescope.

Boris was smiling sheepishly. "It's not much. Stiva wanted to row you out into the lake but Kostya forbade it and I thought this-" He was abruptly cut off when Lucy threw her arms around him and hugged him with a startling amount of strength.

He sighed, relieved, and held her securely with one arm while resting one hand on the top of her head. "So, you like it?"

He felt her nod. "Really, really do. And I'm sorry for Yuri, and you. Just one question," she turned her head, gazing up at him.

"Yes?"

"Can we come back tomorrow?"

Boris laughed, a deep, rumbling chuckled that Lucy felt in her cheek. "This is my plan."

* * *

Officially, Durmstrang students were still required to shun Lucy for the full week. But it was half-hearted at best. And since Kostya had no authority over Hogwarts students, she could speak with them whenever someone managed to sneak down to the Chamber in the day. Dimitri, of course, found the entire situation hilarious. But he never asked her why she'd "gone topside."

Lucy called him on it one afternoon, and he shrugged.

"We all have parts of our lives we don't share with each other Montero. You're not the most popular person in the world, but only an idiot would think you spent 2 years here without acquiring ANY friends. Seems natural you probably went up to see them. Stupid, of course, but natural."

Since he was pretty damn close to the truth, Lucy changed the topic of conversation.

Boris took Lucy with him on his night shift rounds, either guiding her through tunnels until she got tired, or letting her wait at the cavern for sunrise with Dimka for company.

They were just about to head out one evening, almost three weeks after their arrival, when Lucy felt something burning her leg.

"What the-" she stuck her hand in her pocket and pulled out Marguerite's pen from Beauxbatons, the glass vial had grown incredibly hot, while the rest of the barrel remained cool.

"You're supposed to keep that in the box, don't you know who made-"

"I don't care. I think someone's trying to phone home."

At Boris' quizzical look she shrugged. "So, how does this work?"

"No idea."

"It's past curfew, too late to get to Marguerite -hey!"

The pen had leaped out of her hand and landed on the floor.

"Careful!"

"I didn't drop it, it flew."

"Oh."

Lucy ground her teeth together. "What I wouldn't' give for just one hour in a place where 'The pen flew on it's own' is NOT considered a reasonable explanation," she muttered.

Boris watched as the pen began to move. "Maybe it will write us a message?"

The pen was not, in fact, writing. It was _drawing_. Racing in a rough rectangle around the floor almost too fast to see. Purple rivulets of ink flowed in its wake, and then seemed to take on minds of their own, twisting and embellishing…

"I suck at Pictionary," she muttered.

Boris, moving a few paces back, tilted his head. "It's a window."

"What does that mean? A window? They are in a house?"

"Could be any building. Could be a window factory."

Lucy raised an eyebrow, "_Window factory?_"

"It's called thinking outside the box. Keep and eye on it, I'll get the others."

When Boris returned with the Opolchenie, the pen was slowing down, and it had, indeed, drawn a window. A tall, narrow window with two 8 pane sides held together by an ornate latch in the shape of a winged horse and a curtain that blew back and forth. This was incredibly disconcerting to Lucy, who still got creeped out by wizarding photographs. This was, essentially, wizarding sidewalk chalk.

"That's just not right."

Varenka squatted down, her face inches from the floor. "I don't see any hidden writing."

Stiva came to her side. "They haven't drawn what is on the outside of the window, no clues as to where they may be."

Lucy peered over his shoulder. "The curtain is on the opposite side of the window. I think that means _we_ are outside- ugh!"

The window had suddenly opened a crack and instead of blowing back and forth, the curtain had billowed out through the crack and hit Lucy in the face.

"Get it off!" She fell back, wiping her face over and over.

"What happened?"

"The window opened a bit, fascinating." Varenka kept her eyes on the drawing while Lucy continued to rub her cheek.

"Doesn't make sense. It's Harold and the Purple Crayon, not Harold and the Purple Ink Pen."

Boris gave her a handkerchief to wipe off the ink. "Who's Harold," he chuckled.

"Little kid. Has a giant purple crayon, with which he draws whatever her needs. A road to walk, a moon to light the way. More stuff that is infinitely more fun as _fiction_." She grumbled.

But Stiva was smiling. "They always said that Beauxbatons was devoted to the Arts."

"I've never heard of anything like this."

"Maybe because they didn't want anyone else to know about it. Gave them power."

"So that…" Kostya pointed to the drawing.

"Might be an actual window."

"Hello? Bonjour?" Stiva waved his hand very close to the floor.

"Let Lucy do it." Varenka mused.

"Why?"

"It opened a bit for you. This device was left with Marguerite. Maybe it needs a Hogwarts student."

"But I got _expelled-"_

"And nobody cares. Just try it, before they go away." Kostya gave her a Look.

"Fine." Lucy got on all fours and leaned over the window.

"If you could keep that curtain from blowing in my face, that's would be great. Really really, um, _bon_. I'm gonna kill Marguerite for this-"

That was when the drawing _rattled_, the curtain was drawn to one side, the latch lifted and both panes swung out, or in this case, up. Lucy jumped back, her eyes wide as a _leg_, flesh and clearly not purple, swung itself over the sill, followed by another, followed by a lithe redheaded girl hopping to her feet into the Chamber.

Everyone but Lucy had their wands pointed at her before she could so much as flip her hair. She flipped it anyway.

Odette regarded the armed circle with respect, smiling when she saw Lucy.

"Ah bon, ami de Marguerite. You are a friend of Marguerite, n'est-ce pa?"

"Yes." She really had no idea what to do.

"Where is Mademoiselle Ducasse?"

"Asleep, where any 12 year old should be right about now."

"Yes, I apologize for the hour. My…associate makes things a bit difficult." Odette turned in a circle. "But you are in a cave? How delightful!" She clapped her hands. "Darius will be so pleased."

She turned over her shoulder and called back _into the floor_.

"C'est sur! Quite safe! Dépêchez-vous! Quick, how you say, like a bunny?"

"Yes Odette, just like a bunny." A bored voice preceded the appearance of a tall red-headed man hopping through the window. At the sigh of the circle of wands, he sighed, moved so they were standing back to back, and playfully tugged on Odette's ponytail.

"You forgot to explain again, didn't you Pasquier?" The stranger narrowed his gaze at the Opolchenie. "_Those_ are not Hogwarts students." His gaze rested on Lucy, "but _that_ is. Perhaps we could have introductions, and then the wands can be put away."

No one moved. At the sound of the padding of heavy paws on the stone floor, Lucy turned her head to see that Dimka had come to their side. The rest of the mudryvolk were spread throughout the cavern, placing themselves between groups of students and the newcomers.

"You better start, pet."

Odette, who had not drawn her wand, smiled regally and made a graceful curtsy, despite the fact that she was dressed like a backpacker who hadn't showered in days. "Odette Pasquier. Formerly of Beauxbatons. I am the designated Hogwarts contact with Marguerite Ducasse. And this is Darius." She added as an after thought. "And you…" her face lit up. "But you're the Durmstrang students, n'est-ce pas?" She laughed. "C'est parfait! We despaired of ever finding you, and yet here you are! Wherever _here_ is…" She gave them an expectant look.

Lucy looked at Kostya, who nodded. "You're underneath Hogwarts. I'm Marguerite's friend Lucy-"

"_She's_ the one?"

"Shut up Darius," Odette said through a fixed smile. "Ignore him. He isn't supposed to talk."

"You didn't die then?" Stiva asked cheerfully.

"No."

"Lot of that going around lately," Lucy muttered.

"How many got out?" Kostya demanded.

"All of us, all the students," Odette's face clouded, "the staff didn't-they were drawing them off, you see, so we could escape."

"How?" Lucy frowned. "How did you all get out? Did you use a purple crayon?"

"A what?" Darius' mouth quirked up in what might be a smile.

Lucy gestured at the pen, still standing vertically on point at the edge of the window.

"That? Oh no. Not near enough ink to bring us all through using the DaVinci Window. No, we used- well, that's what we were here to talk to Marguerite about."

Lucy elbowed Boris, starting at the pen in awe and horror. "When they say "DaVinci," she whispered, "they don't mean THE DaVinci. That thing wasn't actually made by-"

"I _told_ you to be gentle with it." Boris chided.

Lucy gulped, she looked up. Darius was smiling at her.

Something about that guy was…off.

"If I may," he inclined an eyebrow at Odette, who shrugged, which seemed to be all the permission Darius needed to speak.

"The Beauxbatons students, having safely escaped, contacted Hogwarts to offer assistance in relocating any students who desired a….less hazardous climate. We attempted to contact your school as well but our summons was never answered."

"Where _is_ Anna?" Odette looked around, suddenly noticing the absence.

"She didn't make it," Varenka said curtly. No one looked at Kostya.

With Anna too stunned to talk, Darius, who paused, as if considered something, continued.

"That explains it. We always meant to extend the invitation to you as well. When we were able to find you. This is a fortunate happenstance."

"What invitation?" Boris eyed Darius with some suspicion. The man was obviously not a student.

"To our Sanctuary."

Lucy flinched, but shook her head at Boris' inquiring look.

Darius had noticed it as well, but went on. "We obviously can't tell you_ where_ it is. But we can show you. A safe place, where you can send any students you want to remove from danger."

That was an odd phrase, Lucy thought. What students wouldn't want to leave danger?

"Some may feel they need to remain to serve the greater good," Darius added with a smile.

Lucy glared at him sharply, and slammed down her shields. Sloppy, sloppy, she could hear Antolin's voice chiding her.

"You can't expect us to just blindly send you the weakest among us," Stiva began.

"Of course not," Odette, now recovered, explained. "Our job was to secure one or two Hogwarts students to come back with us. They could see for themselves our circumstances and together we could do an inventory to establish the best evacuation route."

"Inventory?" Lucy asked.

"Yes…" Odette seemed to search about for an explanation. "I would need a volunteer that… knew the castle well. So we could plan a way out."

There was more to it than that, Lucy guessed, but said nothing.

"Naturally, a student from Durmstrang should come to make decisions for your own school. But since none of you, I wager, have been in the castle often, a Hogwarts student is still required."

Lucy did _not_ like the way this was headed.

"I don't mean to be indelicate, but, did Anna, by any chance, leave anything behind?"

The Durmstrangers were very quiet. Lucy, as the one who knew Anna the least, spoke up. "She left everything behind. It was quite sudden."

"No, of course, I mean," Odette looked flustered for the first time since entering the Chamber. Darius just looked…intrigued. Like he was watching a play. "Anna had…safeguarded something for us. I don't suppose you brought anything of hers with you?"

"What was she safeguarding?"

Odette looked at Darius, who nodded.

"A book."

Everyone looked up at that.

"The book she took from the library?" Lucy recalled the frantic activity to unbind the book and rebind it with blank pages.

"She found it. But only Anna knew where she placed the manuscript."

"It would have been somewhere safe, somewhere unlikely, and somewhere where it was almost never left unguarded."

"Nothing at Durmstrang was under constant guard," Varenka shook her head.

"Maybe she had it with her?"

"That would be the very opposite of secure and Anna knew this." Boris had on his inscrutable face.

"Lucy," Stiva said casually.

"Yes?" She asked.

"No, I mean, the only thing that was under constant guard was Lucy. We had you secured and Dimka was watching over you all the time."

"The only thing Anna ever gave me was-" Lucy stopped herself before she admitted to needing a nightlight- "NOT a book. And she gave it to me way before the book incident. And it got left behind."

"What did she give you?" Boris examined her face carefully.

"It isn't relevant."

Before Boris could try again Kostya finally spoke.

"Lucy, Anna was careful, but not always… straightforward. It is quite possible she could have hidden this object near you or on you without you knowing it was there. What _did_ you bring with you?"

"My backpack, my clothes, blanket and…" she trailed off, reaching into the sling she'd made out of her blanket to pull out the one object she carried around wherever she went.

"My pillow," she breathed.

"Of course," Boris said.

Darius eyed Lucy's pillow with skepticism. "A pillow?"

"Lucy's pillow has a silencing charm on it, she never leaves it for long in case she falls asleep and has a nightmare."

"Anna told you how dangerous it would be if anyone heard you screaming, stressed that you should keep it close to you always, didn't she?" Kostya asked.

Lucy nodded.

"It's pretty dense. She could have hidden papers inside the foam."

"And you didn't notice?"

"At first, then I just figured it was a Russian thing."

Boris raised an eyebrow.

"You know, the pillows must be like the shoes and the food…lumpy and dense."

Stiva stifled a laugh and Varenka rolled her eyes.

"You're appreciation for my culture is fascinating, as always," Boris muttered.

"May I see it?" Darius asked, extending his hand.

Kostya pushed his hand aside. "No."

Darius, clearly unaccustomed to teenagers telling him what to do, raised an eyebrow and glanced down at Kostya's hand.

"No?" he asked softly.

Boris moved subtly in front of Lucy. Lucy, completely OK with it, moved further back, peeking out from between the comforting bulk of Boris and Stiva, blinking up at Darius like an owl in a tree. Something about him…wasn't right.

"Darius," Odette warned. He sighed, and stepped back.

Kostya addressed Odette. "I don't know who _he_ is or why he is here. I'm not about to hand over something Anna risked her life to keep safe to a total stranger."

Odette nodded. "Of course. This is complicated. Darius is an ally."

"An ally?"

"I trust him with my life."

"So that's why he's here, as protection?"

Darius chuckled. "God no, Pasquier takes care of herself."

Odette sighed, "Please let me handle this. It would be easier if Marguerite were here, she already understands."

"She isn't. She won't be available for hours. Explain."

Odette began again. "It's complicated-"

"Because he's not human?" Lucy blurted out. Darius, when viewed with Sight, didn't have a color, he was a glaring hole of nothingness in a sea of colors and shapes that were made by the other inhabitants of the Chamber.

Darius gave a small smile. "_Caileag glic", _he muttered.

It did not take the Durmstrang students more than a breath or two to put together "Beauxbaton's ally" with "not human".

"You brought a-"

"Holy shit." It hade taken Lucy a few moments longer than the rest to actually realize Darius was a vampire.

"He's a-" Boris clapped a hand over her mouth before she could shout out the truth. She squeaked in indignation, and Boris released her with the warning "Do you want to scare the children to death?"

"Why?" Kostya grumbled the question while grinding his teeth in frustration. Lucy could actually see the vein in his temple throbbing. Golernishev was _pissed._

"I needed to know the truth. Darius is..gifted."

"Vampires can't use magic."

"Which, you would think, would make me less intimidating," Darius grumbled, "Yet here I stand, wands at my throat and dogs ready to pounce. Can we end this tedium Odette and be on our way?"

"You. Are. Not. Helping."

"For the love of Christ," Darius muttered. "I'm a lie detector. Odette needed to make sure that she got accurate information on this visit, and I can tell when people are lying."

"Really?" Lucy piped up. Somehow the exasperated and annoyed vampire was less intimidating. "How?"

"Human behavior. Vampires are hyper-aware and have excellent senses. Human respiration rate, heartbeat, flushes, involuntary eye movements, all reveal when you are lying and I can't help but notice." He shrugged. "And your lot lie all the time, so it comes in handy."

"I thought you were, you know, trying to..um, eat Beauxbatons?" Lucy stared, fascinated.

"_Infants,_ for the love of God," Darius muttered before taking a calming, if physiologically unnecessary breath. "We don't _all_ want that. Which is why I am here. The document Odette is seeking was written by my kind," he droned one, still bored, "I can identify it and ensure that the information passed along to Le Subterrean is accurate. If anything, as the only armed member of our party, she is by far the bigger threat."

The wands were still pointed at Darius.

"It's not fair. This always happens, just because you're pretty…" Darius grumbled.

Lucy strained forward from behind Boris and Stiva. "I don't see his fangs. Is that a myth? And speaking of myth, are hobbi-"

"Lucy for the love of Merlin, not now." Boris kicked her in the shins.

Darius tilted his head and eyed the small girl behind the lummoxes.

"You aren't scared of me." It was unexpected, and surprising. Darius was rarely surprised.

Lucy shrugged. "Seems to me if you had wanted us dead, you would have killed us right away and taken whatever you were looking for."

Darius grinned. "See? Listen to the infant."

Kostya lowered his wand, and the rest of the Opolchenie followed. "Lucy, show him the pillow."

Lucy stepped forward from behind Stiva and Boris, holding out her pillow.

Darius slid his hands under the case, ran a fingernail along the seam, slid his hand inside the foam up to the elbow and pulled out a thick sheaf of pages.

Stiva eyed the heft. "Exactly how dense do you think we are, Luchka?"

Lucy shrugged, "I was on painkillers. She could have filled it with rocks."

Darius flipped through the pages.

"How can you read that?" Varenka demanded. Only Durmstrang students were able to read the books in the library.

"Oh I can't see the ink, of course. I _can_ see the difference between the areas that were once covered by ink and those that were not as protected. The text comes through pretty clear." He looked up at Odette. "This is it. She did it."

"_What_ is it?" Kostya asked, looking at a text that made no sense to him. "The text didn't match the cover we took off it."

"Not even Anna could read it." Varenka added.

"An _infant_, read Gaulish? Of course she couldn't."

Odette flushed with embarrassment. _"Cet enfant est décédé, fils de pute. Preuve de tact pour l'amour de Dieu,"_ she admonished under her breath.

Darius had the sense to try and look abashed.

"Apologies. I meant to say that it is written in Gaulish, not French, and was hidden at Durmstrang for safe keeping. When we understood Durmstrang had been…compromised, we needed to locate it and get it out before the wizards found it."

"Why would they want it?"

"It has information that would be valuable to certain vampires. No doubt their plan was to trade this my…less enlightened brethren in exchange for their services."

"What kind of services?"

"Violent ones, I imagine." He glanced at Odette before she, in a gentler tone, asked, "May I take it with me?"

Kostya nodded. Anna had already and planned to give it to him. "It's yours."

"Wonderful!" Odette clapped her hands. "All that's left is to decide who's coming along then."

Darius added, "If Durmstrang would like to send a representative, there is enough power to bring another through as well. Provided we leave within the hour."

Lucy picked up Boris' wrist and looked at his watch. It was 9 o'clock at night. Even the prefects had to be under lockdown by now.

"The Hogwarts students won't be able to leave their dormitories until morning."

"Regrettably, the ink will not last that long," Odette held up her hands in a truly French manner.

Lucy raised her hand. "I could go get someone. I'll just slip back up into the castle and-"

"No," Boris, Kostya, Stiva, and Varenka said at once.

Lucy pouted. Darius grinned. "What about that one?" He asked Odette.

"_That?_" Lucy looked behind her. "That did not just call _me_ a _that_."

"That-sorry, _she_ , is not going anywhere." Boris winced at Lucy's glare. "It just slipped out."

"Why not? She's a Hogwarts student, and she's here."

"I got _expelled_." Honestly, did she need to tattoo that on her forehead? Wear a scarlet "E"?

"Nobody cares," Darius shrugged.

"You were a student once, you would know the school well, remember it, oui?" Odette asked.

"I suppose, yeah, I remember it as well as anyone."

"Parfait!" Odette smiled. "Now we just need a Durmstrang student and we can be on our way."

"You can't take _her._" Kostya gestured to Lucy.

Odette tilted her head, "Why not?"

"Yeah," Lucy had no desire to travel by sidewalk chalk, but she'd be damned if _Constantine_ stopped her from doing it. "Why not?"

"Because, you're…fragile."

"She looks sturdy to me." Darius's gaze was a little discomforting. Lucy sensed he saw a lot more than most people.

Vampires were creepy in an entirely unexpected way.

Kostya sighed, "Boris, you don't actually think this is a good idea?"

Boris, turned to Lucy. "Do your feet still pain you?"

Lucy shrugged.

Stiva turned to Odette, "What about spell casting? Her wand was…lost."

"I don't have a wand either," Darius winked, "And I do just fine."

Boris and Stiva both looked at Kostya and shrugged. "She's fine."

Kostya pulled the Opolchenie together, "Excuse us a moment."

Darius chuckled and looked at Lucy. "And now that the big strong men have spoken, does the little lady have an opinion?"

"Where are we going?"

"I can't tell you that here. For security."

"Is it in a cave?"

"No."

"I'll do it."

Darius nodded. "Short and to the point. I like it-_ Her_, like her."

"Better," Odette sighed.

The Durmstrangers turned back around. "I'll be coming as well," Boris smiled.

"I assume you said yes?" He raised an eyebrow at Lucy, who nodded, rocking back and forth with excitement.

"It's not a cave." She beamed up at him.

"Excellent."

Yuri and Nadya appeared with backpacks. Lucy stuffed the her pillow inside.

She hefted her blanket into her arms. "I'll just drop this off."

She hurried off, stopping quickly by her bunk, pulling Sparks out from his hiding place in her blanket roll.

"You can't come with." She placed a dragon slipper on either side of him and then rolled them all up in the blanket, making a tiny cocoon. "Play nice, and only hunt after they are all asleep." He caught mice in the tunnels, which was revolting, but at least he could fend for himself for a day. Which was all she was assuming this was going to take.

When she returned to the window, Boris was ready. He pulled his watchcap over her ears.

Lucy eyed the window.

"You first."

Darius went first. Boris followed, sitting on the floor next to the window, then swinging his legs over and _in,_ before dropping out of sight.

Lucy followed suit, holding her nose as she swung her legs over, feeling herself sink, not into the floor, but into thin air.

The rest of her body followed, falling a few feet, and landing on her side. She looked up, at a window drawn on a very old piece of parchment. A mere sketch in a tattered wooden frame leaning against the wall.

Boris was at her elbow, pulling her up and away in time before Odette landed on her. The girl immediately reached out and shut the window latch, pulled the curtain, closed. The image on the page froze. Odette picked up the frame, and slid it back into the adjacent open crate. Darius quickly put the lid on and hammered it shut.

Lucy glanced around. They were in a dim room, full of identical crates.

"You said it wasn't a cave."

"It's not a cave, it's a basement."

"Put these on." Odette reached into her bag and hung…passes around their necks. It was in French, not one of Lucy's languages.

"We need to hurry. They will be clearing the galleries in half an hour."

"One minute." Odette stepped out from behind a crate, where she had suddenly transformed from a backpacker-chic into a pencil skirt, crisp blouse, blue blazer, and high heels. Her hair was back in a twist and she carried with her a small handbag.

She spun around quickly. "Did I miss anything?"

Darius shook his head.

Boris and Lucy had no choice but to follow Odette as she deftly wove her way past crate after crate towards a glowing red "Exit" sign.

Lucy frowned. Only muggles used Exit signs.

Odette reached a door, slid a _magnetic key card_ through the sensor, and motioned them to precede her into a staircase. Three floors later, a winded Lucy watched a still immaculate Odette scratch at a door, which was immediately opened by a young woman, dressed similarly to Odette.

"Vous êtes en retard." She chided.

"They took some convincing," Odette shrugged.

"Il n'y a personne là-bas. Dépêchez-vous."

"It's all clear. We have to hurry, so I'm sorry, you cannot stop to look."

"Look at what?" Lucy followed the two through an unmarked door out into a crowded open area of white marble, with a sloping pointed glass ceiling.

"On Fridays they do not close until 9:45 but we are going to have to time this carefully." The new girl tossed back as she led them up an escalator. An escalator?

"Where are we?"

As they emerged in a ground floor, with small groups of people quietly shuffling about, looking at walls and fold-out maps, it became a little clearer. Odette did not stop as she headed for the next staircase, calling back over her shoulder,

"Bienvenue, a La Louvre!"


End file.
